


No Man is an Island

by Stressedspidergirl



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bathing/Washing, Childhood Friends, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Hair Washing, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jealousy, Mild Smut, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Multi, Mutual Pining, Pining, Sharing a Bed, Survivor Guilt, Tired Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Touch-Starved Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Trial Of The Grasses (The Witcher), Witchers Have Feelings (The Witcher), Yearning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:47:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 29,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23936320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stressedspidergirl/pseuds/Stressedspidergirl
Summary: Dandelion has always thought he was one of Geralt's only friends, and knew him better than most. He is deeply displeased when their travels bring them to one of Geralt's only surviving childhood friends and it brings out a whole other side of the witcher he never knew existed. To Eskel's amusement, the bard also completely misreads his relationship with Geralt and he does nothing to fix the situation.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 108
Kudos: 304
Collections: Best Geralt, Interesting Character and/or Interesting Relationship Development





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Everything is based off the show or the books. And is currently unbeta'd.

Geralt trudges wearily next to Roach, one hand gripping her reins loosely, the other clinging to her saddle horn. He’s exhausted. Not badly injured but aching once the elixirs wore off. He’s out of the false energy they give him and the crash is as bad as it always is. And the bard will not shut up. Nattering nonstop, begging for details and he wants to snap. He wants to turn around and clamp his hand over the bard’s mouth until he stops talking. His head aches, his eyes burn, and his stomach roils violently as he drags himself step after step forward. The carcass is taking up his saddle, or he’d be in it, half asleep and trusting Roach to lead him safely back to the town.

As it is, the patient mare continues to step forward and ignores the way he’s throwing her saddle to the side a little. He knows he’ll need to check for sores and make sure none of the straps across her belly rub her wrong either.

“If you would just tell me the details!” the bard insists, and then stops, actually looking at Geralt. “Your face has gone back to normal, eyes, too, although you’re hardly keeping them open. Geralt, are you alright? Here, let me see-“ he huffs when the witcher just shakes him off irritably. “I don’t see any blood on the path behind you but it’s dark enough I can’t be sure. Or if you’ve got a broken bone that’s paining you, I could help you set it and we could continue on. The creature is dead, it won’t get deader, or alive…er… if we pause to look-”

“Enough,” Geralt snaps, hoping for once Dandelion will listen. He snarls in irritation when he feels the bard slide under his other arm and drag it over his shoulders. Thankfully they’re of a similar height so he’s not forced to stoop.

He looks over at Geralt a few times, fairly sure the witcher is asleep on his feet at this point. They’re almost back to the town and hopefully the alderman will pay out the promised coin and they can afford a spot in the inn. Geralt clearly needs to sleep in a bed, and for longer than a few hours. Usually the witcher is up at dawn on the trail, sometimes in an actual bed he’ll let himself sleep in a bit. He does his best to take as much of Geralt’s weight as he can, but he can’t carry him. Mostly because the witcher wouldn’t allow it, but also because with his armor and swords he’s too heavy.

“Here we are, c’mon then, wake up,” Dandelion says after a while, they’re near the edge of the town. Geralt lifts his head and looks around in confusion. “We made it, we’re here. The alderman’s house is near the center of the town, but we’ve passed the first few houses, I thought you’d rather be alert and not caught with your head hanging.” He sighs deeply when Geralt pulls away. He didn’t have to do that just yet. The bard fidgets with his hands and almost reaches for Geralt’s, wanting to feel the warmth of his flesh through his gloves, to just touch him.

Geralt widens his pupils to allow in more light as he looks around. Yes, they’re there. He straightens his spine and gives his head a little shake, releasing Roach’s saddle to gently stroke her neck a few times. She snorts and turns her head to lip at his armor. He strokes her nose and steels himself for another unpleasant interaction with humans. It’s not horribly late, he’d killed the monster far earlier than he’d expected to. Normally he might have waited till morning to return, but the moon isn’t even fully risen in the sky. With a breath he puts his shoulders back and hands the reins to Dandelion before stepping up to the door and knocking. The town is prosperous enough to have an alderman, but not so prosperous he has a private staff.

He comes to the door himself, and Geralt hears his wife asking who it could be, and the answer of ‘no idea.’ When the man opens the door, he has a knife in his hand and clearly is not expecting the witcher at all. Geralt simply turns his body sideways and gestures to his horse.

“Where do you want it?” he asks, hoping his voice doesn’t betray his exhaustion.

“Damn,” the man says quietly. “You really killed it, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I suppose you’re here for your coin?”

“Yes.” If the man doesn’t answer his question about what to do with the corpse, he intends to leave it right there. He hates when people ignore him like that. Although to be sure, he has a feeling the alderman had never expected to have to pay. He expected the witcher to die instead. Unimpressed, it hadn’t exactly been a difficult fight. He’d faced much worse, and he’d said so before he even took the contract.

“Right, let me get it,” he says quickly.

Geralt nods, but steps into the doorway so the man can’t shut him out. It wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility for the door simply to be shut and then to have the town guard set on him. He sees two mugs on the table inside and thinks perhaps the couple had been up for a night cap of some kind. Or simply talking and enjoying each other’s company. What must that be like? To have hearth, home, and family? There’s small indications of children, too, a marble on the table, bits of yarn and straw to make a doll…he hopes this man isn’t planning on refusing to pay. He’d like to think the alderman is a good person, who will raise good children and is kind to his wife. Men with power usually aren’t that kind of man.

Shocked when footsteps return and the soft clink of metal accompanies it, he takes the purse and hefts it. It feels right. All the same he opens it and makes sure there’s no false coin or rocks hidden in to disguise the weight. “Thank you,” he grunts. “Good night,” he adds. Then pauses, for the sake of the child with the straw doll. “Where did you say you wanted the corpse?”

“Oh, oh, yes, I’m so sorry, you did ask, didn’t you? Ah. There’s a midden, not too far from the inn. If you wouldn’t mind depositing it there, I would appreciate it.”

He nods once, pockets the purse and stops blocking the door. Taking the reins back from Dandelion he still can’t believe he got paid. Without any haggling, or arguing. Dreaming of a morning bath and warm breakfast he leads Roach to the midden. He could smell it the whole time, but he wasn’t sure the man would want this thing deposited there. Where anyone would see it. Although perhaps that would be the point. He dumps it off and Roach huffs in relief, shaking her head and making all of her tack jingle. He pats her neck again and mentally promises to buy her some carrots and apples. “Inn’s over there,” he gestures and the bard sets off to go see if there’s a room available.

Roach snuffs his chest and hair and he shakes his head to clear it. Rubbing at his forehead, he pats her neck and leans into her. He feels almost too tired to walk what can’t be more than a few yards to the inn. Far enough away the smell won’t bother human noses, but close enough the cooks won’t have to go far to dispose of leavings. After a short debate of if it’s worth it or not to heave himself into the saddle, he’s fairly sure that falling back out of it would be worse than just falling on his face walking and decides to stay on the ground. Roach turns herself towards the direction the bard went in and starts walking slowly and Geralt finds himself stepping forward to keep up with her. He puts an arm over her neck, which isn’t comfortable for either of them, but at least she keeps him moving forward and on his feet at the same time.

“Oh, there you are, good, there’s a room and there’s a pot still over the fire we can get a little dinner before we go to bed. They’ve said they can manage a bath tomorrow and I assume you’ll need it. You look dead tired. I’m sure you’ll ache all over in the morning. There’s a few people still up, so we won’t be making any enemies who will spit in our breakfasts. Dandelion slips his arm back around Geralt’s ribs and takes the reins out of his slack fingers. A stable boy pops up and Dandelion hurriedly yanks back on the reins before the mare can bite. She gives him a reproachful glance and he sighs deeply. “Geralt tell her not to bite the nice boy.”

“Roach, don’t bite,” Geralt fights out against a yawn. She tosses her head but allows the boy to lead her away without taking a chunk out of him. “Our packs,” he protests and then looks at the bard who is staring at him in confusion.

“I already have them. You really are dead on your feet. I can get you up to the room first, if you want? Rather than dinner. I’m sure there’s something I can get ahold of that’s fresh but won’t be disgusting should you wake up in a few hours and want to eat. Won’t be the same as fresh meat or stew, but some rolls or fruit…?”

“I’ll eat,” Geralt tells him and pulls away again. They make it in and the innkeeper stares at him a bit too long and Geralt feels even worse. Here’s the scorn. Will they throw him out? He has coin. They both have coin. There’s no reason to be unpleasant. Hopefully things will be just fine. He glances around the room looking at the few stragglers eating a late dinner. Dandelion leaves him to go get them some food and he finds himself constantly looking back at the corner by the fire, at the dark-haired man sitting there. Finally, as if feeling eyes on him, he looks up and Geralt feels their eyes lock. About to look away in shame for having been caught staring, recognition lights up his face instead.

“Geralt?” Eskel calls incredulously. Geralt can only nod dumbly and stand there as his childhood friend and fellow witcher gets up and strides across the room. Eskel’s arms are out and Geralt awkwardly raises his, too, unsure of the reception he’s going to get. Things had been odd for them once Geralt had gone through all the Changes. They’d told him he would feel nothing and so he had tried to act as if that was true, pushing away everyone. He didn’t want them to subject him to more, thinking that they had failed.

Eskel pulls Geralt into a tight hug, one that near lifts him off his feet. He hesitates for a second, and then feels Geralt’s arms slip around his ribs. He holds on tightly for a few minutes, glad to know the other man is still alive. “You look horrible,” Eskel grins.

“So do you,” Geralt says softly, tugging off his gloves and tucking them into his belt before running his fingertips down the new scars that ravage half the side of Eskel’s face. He hadn’t had those the last time they’d seen each other. “What happened?”

“Does it matter? I’m still here,” he says, hand still on Geralt’s shoulder. “Come, sit over with me.” He looks behind Geralt to see the bard waiting with two bowls. “And bring your companion. He’s welcome, too.”

Geralt turns to look and he nods to Dandelion, beckoning him over. He allows Eskel to hold onto him and lead him over to the table, leaning heavily into the touch. He hardly notices how stiff the bard is when he sets down their food and drink.

“Don’t drown in your stew,” Eskel gives Geralt a little shake. “So, I see the lute. I see calloused hands, I take it this is Dandelion, famed poet and troubadour?”

“You would be correct, and you are?”

“Eskel,” he says simply. “I suppose we have you to thank for so many stirring tales of witchers killing monsters? Especially the white-haired kind? Half the time now people won’t believe I’m a proper witcher because my coloring is all wrong.” He shakes his head a little with a soft chuckle. He clasps hands briefly with the other man and watches as Geralt quietly spoons up his food as quickly as he can. “What did you do to him that he’s going to fall asleep at the table?”

“He fought a… a … oh fucking hell, he told me earlier and now I know he won’t tell me again, Geralt, damnit, what was it? It walloped him, well it walloped you a few times, but it died fairly quickly. No match for the White Wolf.”

“Was it you who gave him that moniker?” he asks curiously, lightly gripping Geralt’s forearm on the table and giving it a little shake to keep him awake. Geralt twitches in response and picks up his cup and takes a few long drinks.

“I don’t know, exactly, but I would think that I had some hand in it. Did someone else use it first and I wasn’t aware?”

“No, I think that’s yours. But he has shown you his medallion?”

“Oh, he hasn’t shown me, no, but I’ve seen it. Geralt, are you allowed to show people? Any time I’ve tried to get a better look you’ve gone and tucked it under your shirt. Usually you wear it openly until I try and get a good look at it. But I thought it had a wolf on it, was I wrong?”

“No, not at all,” Eskel grins and looks at Geralt oddly. “Here, I’m stopping you eating, which means I’m stopping you seeking your bed. I heard of a contract here, but I take it you’ve already closed it out?” he asks Geralt who nods sleepily. He’s finished his meal and finishes the last of his drink, too. Unthinkingly, he leans into Eskel who shifts on the bench to accommodate him better. With one leg on either side of the bench it’s easy enough for Geralt to lean into his chest.

Dandelion can’t help but feel jealous. Geralt rarely allows him to touch him, constantly refusing contact and closeness as often as possible. They’d started to get past a few things, and had even kissed once. Then Geralt had gone back to his usual prickly self. And then, here he is letting this other man touch him all over, hold him, and with no attempt to stop it or prevent it. No fuss, he’d just decided to lean over and be held. Dandelion would give him that. Any time, any minute he wanted it. Stung, he starts eating. At least the stew hadn’t cooled and he thinks it might actually have lamb in it. It’s surprisingly good.

Eskel watches the bard bristle and mentally argue with himself as Geralt rests against his chest. They haven’t seen each other in what must have been two decades? More? He really isn’t sure, he wasn’t counting. What does time mean for someone who might live to see a thousand years pass? A few times he’d heard rumors of Geralt’s death. Fighting a striga for King Foltest in Temeria. But later he’d made a trip through Ellander and heard Geralt had passed through a few months back, staying at the temple to recuperate from a difficult hunt. Of course, he’d visited Nenneke, they’d done some schooling there as young boys. She’d known them both since before they passed her waist and she never let them forget it.

When they had parted ways, leaving the keep, Geralt had been someone else. Or at least, he’d been trying to be. Cold, distant, aloof. Shut off, determined to be emotionless and lethal. Eskel and the few other survivors had been similar, but not to the same level. It hadn’t taken long before Eskel had realized not much had been done on a genetic level to change the fact he felt things and while he did control his emotions he didn’t bother to repress them as much as he had in training. He’s somewhat surprised Geralt is so comfortable resuming a more physical relationship since they’ve only just reunited a matter of minutes ago. He can’t help but notice that the bard’s scent is all over Geralt, and Geralt’s all over the bard. And yet, here Geralt is, leaning into him instead.

“So how long have you two been on the road?” he asks, aware Geralt is awake, but unwilling to make conversation. He’d never been social outside of certain circumstances. Always determined to be perfect and exact in his training. Being overly chatty hadn’t been encouraged.

“We’ve been…” Dandelion mutters, mentally tallying up the days. “Oh, let’s see… less than a month, more than two weeks… I’d say around twenty days? Geralt does that sound right?” He huffs when he sees the witcher just shrug a shoulder in response. But at least he responded. Perhaps being around his lover is making him more personable. “I’ve never heard of you before, I knew of course, that there were other witchers, or, shall I say. I have heard names, I have not heard Geralt speak much about his past.”

“He wouldn’t,” Eskel shrugs, jostling Geralt a bit. “None of us would. We’re not supposed to. We don’t talk about our training, or any of it. We take our contracts where we find them and we fulfill them ‘till we slow down and die. Not much to talk about.”

“Well, you seem to know each other quite well. You couldn’t talk about that?” Dandelion pushes. How long do witchers go without seeing their partners? Is that normal for them? How could Geralt have never said anything? Is that why he was so odd about the kiss? Geralt had kissed him, not the other way around. He’d felt, no maybe he hadn’t, maybe it had just been a coin purse…no, he had felt Geralt hard against him that night. He’d been wanted back.

“Oh, I suppose we just don’t because all we are is tied to what was done to us,” he shrugs. He hadn’t thought much about it. He’d never been in a situation like this. “We were trained together,” Eskel adds. “That’s probably the most I think he would have said, if anything at all. Geralt, are you awake?”

Geralt nods and pulls away reluctantly. “Are you done eating?” he asks Dandelion.

“Yes, I’ve finished.”

“Which room? Unless you’re joining me?” he asks rubbing at his temples again. His body aches.

“I’m ready to sleep, yes,” Dandelion says. “We’ll go up together. Unless you’d rather…?”

“No,” Geralt shakes his head. He hasn’t slept near Eskel in decades. He needs what he’s used to right now, to sleep as deeply as possible. The bard’s soft breathing and steady heart is what he wants to hear. “I’ll see you in the morning?” he asks Eskel, unable to hide the hope in his voice.

“Of course, I suspect we have a lot to catch up on. I was intending to head east for a ways, see if I picked anything up before I ran out of coin. You?”

“You wanted to go east, didn’t you, Dandelion?” Geralt asks. “We can head that way for a bit. If a contract is available while we’re together, it’s yours.” So that there’s no reason for them to have any conflict.

“Well if the famed poet is amenable, I am,” Eskel grins and the scars twist his cheek.

“I wouldn’t say no, perhaps you would be more willing to tell me about some of these monsters you face.”

“I don’t see why not. I’ll see you both at breakfast. I was intending to head out after I had a meal. If you were planning on sticking around a bit I could wait a few hours.”

“No, I had wanted to leave after we ate. There’s no real market here, no reason to stay.” He looks at Dandelion and raises an eyebrow.

“I don’t need anything here, I’m ready to move on, too. Just not at first light.”

“They won’t be serving breakfast that early anyway,” Geralt points out. That’s about when they might start cooking it, depending on how many people are in the rooms above them.

Eskel stands first, and grips Geralt under the arm and helps him up without even thinking about it. Old habits die hard. They’d taken care of each other for so long. Since that first night. It wasn’t that they eventually hadn’t had rooms of their own. It was just that as scared boys missing their families, it had been easier to find someone else to cling to. He had barely been sleeping and until Geralt had been the newest addition to the group of boys Chosen. While he had been friendly enough he hadn’t been ostracized or cut off from making friends, they had been there a bit longer and were no where near as scared or miserable. Geralt’s first night, they had fallen asleep on their cots, hands outstretched to close the gap and lock their fingers together. Proof they hadn’t been alone. It was the first time Eskel had slept the night since being dumped outside the keep.

Geralt had had a bit of a rough go of it, at first. Deeply confused about where his mother was, because he had lost her somehow. He’d been concerned and wanted help finding her. No amount of explanation had convinced him she wasn’t looking for him. But as small children do, he’d given up. A solid spanking had also ended his attempt to get out of the keep to go find his ma. Eskel had crawled into his cot that night, hand over his mouth to muffle his sobs so that he wouldn’t catch another strapping. Most of the other boys had already learned that lesson, and ignored them rather than risk catching trouble.

Dandelion doesn’t try to touch Geralt as they go up the stairs. He wants to, he watches the witcher lean heavily on the rail and drag himself up step by step towards the landing. It makes his heart ache because it’s so unnecessary that he do it alone. Of course he’s strong enough to do it all by himself, but he doesn’t have to. And clearly some part of him knows that. He was willing to immediately allow himself to drop his guard the minute he saw Eskel. It hurts. He’s spent years trying to help Geralt feel that comfortable with him. Perhaps it’s loyalty to the other witcher, rather than a deficiency in the bard. He has no idea. He leads the way to their room, and is somewhat dismayed to see just one bed.

“I can sleep on the floor.”

“Why?” Geralt grunts, already starting to unbuckle his armor and slipping off his swords. “We always share the bed if there’s just one.”

“I just thought perhaps…” he licks his lips and fidgets for a few minutes. He watches Geralt struggle with the buckles for a few seconds before going over and reaching out tentatively. “Let me?” He can’t help but feel his heart flutter when Geralt drops his hands and allows the bard to unbuckle the rest of it. He eases it off his friend carefully, and wrinkles his nose a little at the rising sweat smell, now that the armor is no longer locking it in. “Your clothes will need a rinse, too,” he says with a little smile.

“All of me needs a rinse,” Geralt says wearily.

“Are you alright? Truly?” Dandelion asks, pulling up Geralt’s shirt and only seeing bruising. He lightly touches a few of the nastier bruises over Geralt’s ribs to make sure nothing is broken. When all the witcher does is wince he knows it’s fine. They’ll probably be mostly healed by morning. “Go sit, I’ll help you with your boots so you don’t have to bend.”

Geralt grunts in acknowledgement and settles on the mattress. He’s grateful it doesn’t smell like much of anything other than straw and the lye used to clean the sheets. When he bends to try and get his boot off the bard is suddenly there and helps him work it loose without complaint. He sighs in relief, and allows Dandelion to help with the other.

“Go to sleep,” Dandelion tells him softly, wishing he could kiss Geralt again. Caress his face, or stroke his hair. He looks so careworn in the dim light. “I’ll try not to wake you when I join you in a few minutes.” He waits until Geralt nods and slips under the blankets. He tugs off his doublet and boots before splashing water on his face and hands. He feels dirty and smelly but if Geralt hasn’t complained already he’s not going to. He typically hates the smells of body oils more than sweat as it is. Certain scents supposedly burn his nose and make it hard for him to scent what he needs to. Dandelion is somewhat sure it’s a lie, and a polite way of saying he deeply hates some of the perfumes the bard uses. All the same he’d found other scents and Geralt hadn’t said anything, so maybe he had been telling the truth.

He blows out the candle a maid must have lit when they booked the room, and carefully crawls into bed. Geralt is facing the middle and he’s unsure of what to do. They don’t always sleep back to back. In fact, they’d gotten to a point where if they had to share they also shared body heat willingly. Things might have changed and he dithers for a few moments before easing under the sheets and facing away from Geralt.

When he wakes up hours later, Geralt’s arms are around him and their bodies are slotted together. He tenses, and then forces himself to relax. He has no idea how long they’ve been like this, but he can feel the witcher hard against him and it excites his body in turn. It’s not fair. He wants to turn to Geralt and press their lips together, wants to feel the other man against him. Half the time, when he feels like this he finds another bed to share. While he wants Geralt, sometimes he’d do anything to relieve the ache, the need to be touched. He’d assumed for years Geralt simply wasn’t interested in men. Until those nights ago, by the fire. They’d been so close to doing more. Just thinking about it makes his pulse race and his cock twitch.

Geralt shifts in his sleep, pressing closer to the bard and tightening his arms a little. It’s not uncomfortable or painful. Dandelion tries to relax back into him, to allow him to sleep peacefully for a while longer. If he’s slept longer than the bard, then he truly is exhausted. Unable to bear it, he carefully and slowly rolls over. Facing Geralt now, he reaches out to gently touch the white hair and brush it back from Geralt’s cheek. It’s a veritable rat’s nest at the moment. Dirt, and bits of forest have decided to mix in, turning the color grey in sections. He lightly picks little bits of leaves and sticks from the mess.

He freezes when he sees yellow under Geralt’s eyelashes, afraid he’s woken him up. It disappears again and he relaxes with a soft sigh. When he’s sure Geralt is truly asleep again, he leans forward just a bit and presses a soft kiss to Geralt’s lips. He shouldn’t have, he knows. It’s wrong to do that without his permission. They aren’t like that. Ashamed, he turns back so he won’t be tempted to do it again. Or to wake Geralt and straddle his hips and…no. No, that won’t happen. Somehow, he manages to doze off again until Geralt wakes up, pulling away reluctantly.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, aware he’d been pressing himself against the bard in his sleep. Thankful the mutations prevent blushing, he’s even more thankful when his cock softens almost immediately.

“It’s quite alright, who could blame you?” Dandelion teases, trying to act like everything is normal. He sits up but keeps his knees up to his chest to hide his own reaction to Geralt’s proximity.

“Pick any one of your previous lovers,” Geralt tells him oddly. He sees the small wash basin and splashes his face a little and tries to get his fingers through his hair.

“I’ll do it in the bath, if you want. Get it untangled for you. You’re too impatient, you always rip out more than you untangle.”

“Hm.”

“I’ll go let them know you’ll need water drawn up.”

“Thank you,” Geralt says carefully. He’s lost all track of time and goes to the small window. It’s not quite afternoon yet but it will be soon. “I’ll get us breakfast,” he adds. It will take a while for enough water to be heated and brought to the tub. They should have time to eat first. And he can see if Eskel is still there. He had said he wanted to leave earlier, but perhaps he would have waited. He’d said he might wait. They head down the stairs and split at the landing.

Relieved to see Eskel waiting at the table he orders two plates of food before joining his friend at the same table.

“Tell me about him,” Eskel says with a grin. “You two stink of each other. How long have you been together? I always hear rumors about you and that witch in Vengerberg.”

“They’re probably not all rumors,” Geralt admits. He loves her, still. And he knows she loves him. They’re just not able to make a little sacrifice. It’s too much. They’ll probably end up together again eventually, and they’ll part ways. It always ends badly but he can’t keep himself away from her for long. She doesn’t mind when he reads her books, doesn’t criticize his choices or ask him if he’s sure he understands the material. Of course, she can read minds so she knows full well he understands. If she’d said he didn’t he might have argued with her. He has no idea why he can’t do that with Dandelion.

“Oh, did you leave her for the bard?”

“We aren’t like that. She and I parted because of… irreconcilable differences,” he says.

“You’re a taciturn bastard and she got fed up with it?”

“Why do you assume it was her who got fed up?” he asks in annoyance.

“Because you look like someone took your favorite practice sword when she’s mentioned. If you’d made the choice you wouldn’t look like a kicked cur.”

“It was time to travel again. She’s possessive and her temper is…” he doesn’t have a word. “We do well for periods of time, and then it becomes too real and it’s time to end it again.” They can’t ever be a real couple. He can’t marry her, he’s not human. He can’t give her children, they’re both barren. He doesn’t want to settle in Vengerberg with nothing to do but be useless. She doesn’t want to give up all the creature comforts of her lavish lifestyle and clientele. So when things get too intense, they push each other away.

“So, why do you smell like the bard?”

“We had to share a bed,” he points out, grateful when a serving maid brings over plates of food.

“You like him, Geralt. I don’t know how much, but he likes you.”

“No, he just hasn’t found anyone to fuck on the road, and so he thinks he wants me. He’ll find someone in the village. Hopefully not someone married this time, and he’ll be satisfied until there’s too long of a dry spell again.” No, the bard didn’t truly desire Geralt. Geralt just happened to be there. And even if he did, once he got what he wanted he’d move on. Like he always did. How many towns had Geralt heard him whine about how deeply in love he was with some woman he’d just met, only to bed her and abandon her a week or two later?

“I don’t think that’s it, did you see how he looked at me? Like a jealous lover. He was not happy to see you with me.”

“He did not. Odds are he thought I’d travel with you and leave him behind so he’d lose out on stories to write his songs about.”

“You’re wrong,” Eskel informs him. He looks up when he sees the bard come back in. He drops his voice so only Geralt could hear him. “See? He’s glaring at me right now,” he laughs a little and puts an arm around Geralt’s shoulders comfortably.

Once Dandelion joins them at the table Geralt starts eating. He’d waited, he had no idea why. It had just felt right. When Eskel tries to take some of his bacon he bares his teeth a little and the other witcher laughs again. The bard is focusing far too much on his food and seems a little subdued.

“Not awake yet?” he asks in a friendly tone, leaning into Geralt.

“I don’t have much to say at the moment,” Dandelion says. “Geralt, they did say by the time you finish eating the bath should be ready.” It’s a pity they won’t be staying long enough to have their clothes properly washed. Dandelion has a fresh set of clothing he can wear, even if it will be creased from it’s time in the saddlebag. He thinks Geralt is out, so he’ll just be putting smelly clothes right back on. Perhaps they could rinse them a bit in the bathwater and he could just wear them damp. Or if the bard can find his spare shirt, he could rinse it for Geralt to switch into once it was dry. He’s not sure.

He nods in acknowledgement, surprised that the food is as good as it is. When he’d gone up to ask a maid for food, he’d seen the owner of the inn staring at him.

“You’ve got all sorts of shit in your hair,” Eskel tells him, breaking the silence. “Did you let it drag you around the forest before you killed it or did you do this on purpose?”

Geralt glares at him and awkwardly tries to flatten the tangles. He lightly slaps away the twig his friend offers him. “You’ve looked worse many a time,” he points out.

“If I recall, a few of those times were not entirely my fault. Someone dropped the water bucket in the dirt during a short drought, causing someone else to unwittingly slip and fall in mud. And I know it wasn’t me dropping the buckets.”

“If you recall, the buckets were only dropped because somebody filched food and someone else took the blame and the beating for it.”

“True, true. Then those someone’s both took another round of punishment for the bucket and the mud.”

Geralt snorts and finishes his breakfast. The punishment had simply been extra chores. And then an extra round of running through the traps. Worse had happened. He waits for Dandelion to be done before he stands up. He gives Eskel an odd look when Eskel winks at him.

“You’re quite chummy,” Dandelion tells him when they’re almost to the baths. “I didn’t know you could speak in a whole sentence before noon.”

Unsure of what to say, he’s doesn’t understand what he’s done now to make Dandelion mad at him. “We’ve known each other longer than you’ve been alive,” he says gently, trying to make it better. It does not make it better.

“I am well aware of that, I can see plain as day how close you two were. Are, apparently. Are still close. And you’ve never even told me you had friends. Had people you cared for that much. Are you this close with all the other witchers I’ve heard of? Or is it just Eskel?”

Hurt, he hates when Dandelion is like this, acting like a scalded cat. “You never asked,” he protests weakly. “Eskel is… he’s the only other living witcher from those of us chosen to undergo the trials. We’re all that’s left.” It hurts to say that, it hurts to dredge those memories. “You should bathe first, you’re less filthy. You don’t need dirtied wash water.”

“Fine,” the bard bites off, stripping out of his clothes quickly. He’d brought a change with him, but hadn’t known what to do for Geralt and had forgotten when he’d gotten annoyed. “I won’t need much time to scrape the sweat off anyway.” He grabs up soap and steps into the tub and dunks his head first thing. He washes his hair perfunctorily and then scrubs his skin before ducking under again. Geralt picks up the bucket full of rinse water and tries to help but the bard snatches it from his hands and dumps it over his head before getting out of the tub. He grabs one of the linen towels up and starts drying himself.

Deeply uncomfortable Geralt strips down and eases into the still hot water.

“Would you like me to get your _friend_ to help you bathe?”

“No,” Geralt tells him in confusion, unable to hide the hurt in his eyes.

Dandelion’s shoulders slump. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…I don’t know what came over me, that wasn’t…oh Geralt,” he sighs. “Try and rinse your hair but don’t soap it, I’ll go get a comb and some oil.” He waits for the nod. “I mean it, if you want me to fix all those tangles making you look like a wild man, don’t make them worse. Or I’ll just leave you to have to cut your hair off completely to get it fixed.”

He nods again, and obediently does his best to rinse the worst of it out and then clean his body. Dandelion leaves and goes back to the room. He roots around for a spare shirt and finds one, surprised to see it doesn’t smell of anything. At least to his human nose. It should be clean, then. That’s a good find, then he finds a lightly scented oil that doesn’t upset Geralt’s sense of smell, and the wide toothed comb he’d whittled years ago. The fine one he keeps in his bag is for nits and other bloodsucking pests. Thankfully he’d only had to use it once or twice in all his travels. Scratching his head, he stops immediately and shudders. Then leaves the room with the necessary supplies in hand. He passes Eskel on the stairs and nods to him as pleasantly as he can. This witcher is far more open and willing to talk. Perhaps he could learn some of the things he’s wanted to for the past several years. Perhaps not. No sense in being childish.

He’s shaken slightly by the lost look on Geralt’s face when he comes back in. “Did you think I wasn’t returning?” he asks. Oh, he’s been horrible. He knows how Geralt is. How hurt he is on the inside. He’d just never thought there was anyone else who had a bond with him. Well, there was that witch who kept drawing Geralt back in. But it wasn’t the same as what he had with Geralt he doesn’t think. Their friendship is less turbulent, if nothing else.

“You were angry,” Geralt points out, uncharacteristically quiet. Usually he meets fire with fire, until one of them wins the argument.

“Not at you, really. I suppose I didn’t sleep as well as I’d thought. Ridiculous really, here, let me work on your hair,” he offers. The second Geralt nods he’s over by his side, carefully working the tangles loose from the bottom up. There’s quite a bit of detritus still stuck in the white hair, but whatever doesn’t come out with combing will come out in the water when he washes it. When he reaches particularly nasty snarls he uses a bit of the oil to make the hair separate easier. It doesn’t take as long as he’d been afraid it would, and he beams when it’s done. “All better now, there, you can wash it properly without making too much of a mess. You always tangle it, why can’t you just wash it like I showed you?”

Geralt turns to look back at him, eyebrows raised. “You always get mad and do it yourself anyway, when you’re around.”

“True, I suppose I do,” he hums to himself a little. “Is that your roundabout way of asking me to wash it for you now?”

“Whatever pleases you,” Geralt shrugs.

He rolls his eyes in annoyance, wishing just once Geralt would give him a straight answer on these things. “Fine, I suppose I’ll have to assume that’s a yes, because you seem incapable of saying it most of the time. I don’t know why it’s so hard to just tell me if you like having your hair washed for you or not. I can see the way your eyelids flutter when I’m doing it, I think it’s fairly obvious you do. I have no idea why it’s something you can’t admit, it’s not as if I mind.” The chatter is unending as he soaps his hands and starts working the lather into Geralt’s hair. “I don’t mind helping you, when you allow it. Sometimes I worry you truly don’t want it but can’t make yourself say no, and then other times all you do is act as standoffish as possible, like some cat that knows you’re going to plunk it into a bath the second you catch hold of it. Clearly you can speak when you want to, so you can stop pretending you don’t know how to have a conversation now, I’ve seen you with Eskel.” His fingers work the soap down to the witcher’s scalp and he watches as some of the tension seems to flow out of the other man.

When he’s done he picks up the bucket of water for rinsing and warns Geralt before dumping it over him. Rather than soak Geralt just gets out of the tub. They’ve held Eskel up long enough. The bard stares and his cheeks turn red and he turns away to fuss with the bucket. Sometimes it just catches him off guard how attractive he finds Geralt. How much he wants to touch him in places he isn’t permitted to.

“Are you alright?” Geralt asks, dripping water as he stands there, face creased in concern.

“Oh, I’m quite alright. I am going to go pack up our things. I will meet you back in the dining area, I assume Eskel will still be waiting there for you. Or perhaps in his room? You’ll find him regardless I’m sure.” He gathers up what he can, carrying it all low over his crotch before hastily exiting the room. What he wouldn’t give to… he bumps into a maid and apologizes profusely and awkwardly as he heads up to the room to pack.

Geralt stands there dripping a few more moments, utterly bewildered before drying himself off and dressing.

\---

I have a lot of random thoughts about why Geralt would only mention Eskel as a friend. I haven't re-read the book where he has Ciri at the keep, but I just re-read the short stories and he doesn't mention anyone else. Also his memories/mentions of Vesemir are usually not kind and so I feel fairly comfortable assuming regardless of the video game relationship Vesemir was not necessarily a kind man. I make no presumptions of his intentions, and i know looking at some things through a modern lens isn't always fair, I just feel like it's really telling how mad at Visenna Geralt is.


	2. Chapter 2

Geralt chooses not to ride, Roach needs a rest after carrying something far too heavy for several miles. He didn’t see a place to get her any kind of treat, and if he’s being honest, he didn’t much feel like looking. He wanted to leave. Eskel walks Scorpion alongside him, not leaving much room for the bard. Dandelion tries to stuff down his annoyance, but he can’t quite hide it.

The two witchers talk quietly, catching up and their voices are so soft he can’t hear any of it. Determined not to cause a scene, he thinks of several unflattering verses to describe their new companion. At least the addition is temporary. Eskel frequently reaches out to touch Geralt as they talk, and at one point slings an arm over his shoulders and keeps it there for what feels like ages to the irate bard.

“I don’t understand the problem here, Geralt. You’re doing the same thing you used to do when we were boys.”

“No, I am looking at a hopeless situation and choosing not to make it worse. That is almost the opposite of what I did when we were boys.”

“You didn’t make it worse trying to save that rabbit.”

“I prolonged its pain.”

“Not for long, and you know it. Besides with Axii it’s not as if it felt much. It spent some of its last moments calm while you tried to see if there was anything you could do.”

“We hunt and eat rabbit.”

“True, Geralt, we do. But we don’t always frequent upon one that had clearly been hurt and was suffering. You’ve never liked to see anyone or anything in pain.”

Geralt looks away, unwilling to continue to debate the point.

“You’re pig-headed and stupid, do you know that?”

“This is clearly going to convince me to do what you want? Insulting me?” Not that he’s surprised. He lightly jabs Eskel in the ribs and debates getting up onto the horse where Eskel can’t keep touching him. He misses having this kind of easy camaraderie. Nothing to be lost and nothing to be gained. He has no romantic feelings towards his friend, and never had, in spite of all the things they’d done together. They can hug, touch, huddle together for warmth, share things, and it feels safe because there’s no expectation. It’s not like sharing the bed with Dandelion and desperately wanting to do more than sleep.

“He won’t live as long as we do, anyway. And if you’re right, and he leaves you after a few fucks at least the question was answered. Don’t think I can’t smell the lust on you both.”

“I would rather have him as a friend than not at all,” Geralt grits out.

“How long until that longing ruins the friendship for you both? How long until your resentment of all his paramours gets in the way and you turn on him?”

“It’s how he is. His cock leads him where it wills. He’s got to stick it in something or he’s a nuisance. It need not be me.”

“But you want it to be,” Eskel grins and Geralt curls his lip to show his teeth in annoyance. Determined to annoy his friend a bit more, he puts his arm around him again, pressing his palm to Geralt’s head to force him to lean over a bit before kissing his cheek. It will make the bard near apoplectic and will make Geralt far easier to rile up. He’d forgotten how much fun it was to drive his more stoic friend mad. “For luck,” he says to justify it. Geralt simply snarls.

“Will you harp on something else?” he asks.

“No, but I’ll be silent for a while, I think I’ve done enough to upset you.” His tone adds ‘for now’ which makes Geralt want to hit him.

They travel in relative silence until near dark. Eskel hangs back as Geralt and Dandelion automatically move together to look for a place to camp. It’s obvious they’re used to traveling together and working together. Their movements are well practiced and they fit together as a unit. When a place is chosen camp is made without any need to communicate. He adds his bedroll later and uses Igni to light the fire once wood is brought.

“I’ll hunt up some supper,” he offers. When no one disagrees he moves off to see if he can find a game trail.

“Are you alright?” Geralt asks Dandelion, fairly sure what he’s seeing is simmering anger.

“You won’t let me kiss you, you hardly let me touch you. But you’re so comfortable with him. We’ve been travelling together off and on most of my life now.”

“He doesn’t want anything from me that I can’t give,” Geralt says simply, staring at the fire.

“I am not trying to take anything from you,” the bard points out.

Geralt privately disagrees. Dandelion would like his heart, his affections, and then the minute someone else came along he would return them, ill used and unwanted. “We became friends my first day at the keep,” he says heavily. Perhaps sharing something of the situation will be enough to stop the anger and the acrid smell of it rising from his companion. “I did not understand my mother intentionally abandoned me near the walls. I thought we had become separated,” his jaw clenches and he has a hard time saying anything more for a while. For once, Dandelion is completely silent. “I also did not understand I could not go look for her. Or that having a tantrum, as children do, was ill becoming of a witcher. Even one in training. I was punished appropriately for the transgression and disobedience.

“He was the first boy there to show me any kindness. He hadn’t been there much longer than I, and while we would bond with the others, too…it wasn’t the same. I tried a few times to leave and find her, determined she wanted me back and was worried. She was not. I again suffered through quite the spanking and could not sleep. He stayed with me that night and kept me out of more trouble.” Geralt does not add Eskel crawling into his cot and keeping a hand over his mouth to muffle the sobs so he wouldn’t catch another round with the belt _. Witchers do not show their emotions. Eventually, they will not have them, and it is better to give them up early._ He does not add that he could not sleep for several days unless he was holding Eskel’s hand at night. How can he? “He showed me how to fit in better. When I was less of an annoyance the other boys warmed to me. Things improved.”

Dandelion still stinks of anger, but Geralt has the feeling the bard is no longer angry at him. He fidgets with his hands for a while, debating something with himself. “I am glad he was there,” he says simply. It will do Geralt no good to hear how unfair the whole situation sounds. He won’t care and as it is it won’t make any difference now. “I am glad you had someone to share that with who made it easier.” He leans over and gently kisses Geralt’s cheek and pulls away. He won’t push. “I would share whatever burden you asked, if it would help things improve,” he says quietly before standing. “I’ll gather some more firewood, and I’ll stay close to the camp. And don’t worry, I’m sure the town over will hear the screams if I stumble upon one of your friends in the dark.”

And so Geralt is left utterly alone by the fire.

Dandelion comes back with plenty of firewood to find Eskel and Geralt quietly skinning a few rabbits.

“Did you bring anything we could use as skewers?” Eskel asks hopefully. The bard shakes his head. Geralt hands him a rabbit and a knife.

“I’ll go,” needing to get up and move again for a few minutes.

Dandelion efficiently finishes skinning the rabbit and reaches for another. “You found quite a few.”

“Stupid things hopped out of their warren right in front of me. I don’t know how many still live there, but all I’ve done is thin the herd a bit. I just can’t believe they popped out a few at a time, it was almost too easy. I feel practically cheated,” Eskel says. “How long have you known Geralt, again?”

“Almost twenty years now, I think,” Dandelion says absently.

“You must know so much about him,” Eskel presses. For all he knows the bard had said Geralt tended to the taciturn.

“I know of his life from when we met forward. He won’t tell me much of the past. And most people know about Blaviken, whether they want to or not. But I know him, and I doubt it was his fault or anything he could prevent.”

“I haven’t heard of Blaviken,” Eskel says. That doesn’t sound good. At least, he hadn’t heard of Geralt and Blaviken together.

“The locals would tell you he just showed up and slaughtered a bunch of people at market for no reason. I’ve passed through and tried to get more truth, but it’s been so long I’m not sure anyone even really knows what it was. I feel like he wouldn’t kill anyone for no reason.”

“No, and if he had Vesemir would have put him in the ground,” Eskel says firmly. He knows he will ask Geralt about it, later. He will know the truth. And he will find out why the bard does not. “Have you never asked him?”

“I mentioned the moniker he was given after, and he punched me in the gut.”

“Ah.”

“It sounds like you both had a bit of a rough upbringing,” Dandelion fishes. “I know that the witchers jealously guard the secrets of the Trials and everything else to do with being a witcher. Their code, their learning, how to train to fight with a sword like they do…It just be quite intensive.”

“We can’t guard secrets we no longer hold,” Eskel says heavily. “The keep was sacked. The secrets lost. We hold some of it still, but not like what people think. Of course, we’re not much like what people think. I have yet to steal the breath of babies or drink the blood of virgins.”

“Some people are bloody stupid,” the bard mutters, fidgeting with the knife a bit. He’s laid his rabbit on its skin while it waits for Geralt to return with some sticks. “I know I probably shouldn’t ask this, and I have a feeling I will regret it, but I’m going to. Geralt can tell you my curiosity is more curse than anything else. It leads me into more trouble than anything else in my life. So if you’re going to kill me for asking, you’d best do it quickly because I have substantial training as a bard and I can be very loud. I will scream quite a bit if you kill me slowly.”

Eskel snorts and raises an eyebrow. “Did they also train you as a Player? You’re quite theatrical. Just ask.”

“Were you his first?”

“I don’t take your meaning.”

“His first, his first kiss, his first… everything,” the bard bursts out, waving his hands to make up for the words unspoken.

Eskel looks at him and snorts. “No, not the way you would think. We shared things with each other, and we had a fair share of firsts, but no,” he laughs. “There are no women at the keep, and while we did some of our book learning at the Temple of Melitele, we were far too young to be chasing skirts.” He debates tormenting the bard with some of what he does know.

He remembers the horror they’d felt when they first experienced puberty changing their bodies. Terrified when they woke with an erection that it wouldn’t stop. It hit them all at different times, and none of them had been prepared. None of them knew what to do to make it stop, and thankfully for many, the terror and panic was usually enough to stop it. Most young boys can’t keep their hands away from their genitals even before there’s much reason to play with them, and eventually curiosity also broke into the fear and some of them began experimenting. The first boy to ‘figure out’ what to do had eagerly shared with them his experience.

Soon enough they were all trying it, not realizing it was by ‘normal’ standards something meant to be private and never spoken about. They had been trained collectively to watch each other’s performances in regards to sword fighting, hand to hand combat, and the various traps and training arenas in the keep, and to them this was no different. They had shared advice, and even shown each other things they liked. If they had known how the outside world would have seen that, they would have died of shame.

It had become a game once they realized it could be triggered on purpose. To play chicken, almost, and see how much you could arouse your fellow in a public place before he stopped you.

“What’s got you so amused?” Dandelion asks Eskel, looking up when Geralt comes back.

“Do you remember the games we used to play when we thought Vesemir wasn’t looking?”

“Which one?” Geralt asks as he sits down and starts preparing the rabbits for the fire.

“The one that made us all blush before the mutations changed us too much for that to be possible.”

Geralt looks away, deeply uncomfortable. He has learned shame in his lifetime. And embarrassment over what they’d done as boys. They hadn’t known better, it had been innocent. Harmless. But he knows the way it would be seen now and rather than an amusing memory it’s something he’s shoved away inside himself as something that shouldn’t have happened. Just more proof he isn’t the witcher he’s supposed to be.

“Oh come, surely you haven’t forgotten,” Eskel leans forward. He grips Geralt’s knee and looks at him. “I could show Dandelion, spare you the trouble of explaining it,” he offers.

Geralt glares and then looks at his friend. He knows that there’s no getting out of this now. “When we were old enough to change from boys to men, we learned we could torment each other under the table,” he says flatly. “The point was to see how far you could take it before you were stopped. If I recall Eskel won, completely. I rarely made it very far in.” Once a hand was on his thigh he could barely handle it. Not many of the boys made it up very far because he always caved, afraid of the consequences of angering Vesemir. It wasn’t that he didn’t mind when it was in private, but at the damn dinner table where the whole point was to not get caught had made him edgy.

“And how did you win?”

“You got stroked off without letting on and somehow not getting caught,” Geralt bites off, still glaring angrily at Eskel.

“Geralt was always worried Vesemir would catch on and so you could only get about halfway up his leg before he tapped out,” Eskel grins, demonstrating on Geralt’s leg and laughing when his friend pushed his hand away. “Just like that.”

Dandelion can see Geralt’s discomfort but when he sees the way the witcher won’t look at him he knows it’s more a fear of judgement. “We had something similar at Oxenfurt. Only there are women there and they were the ones tormenting us at the table. We also weren’t told about it until after. The girls had a hazing process, and it involved getting ahold of some poor lad’s cock and getting him to do something strange at an inappropriate time to get him into trouble and embarrass him. I quite ruined a singing lesson because of an especially brave young woman whose name currently escapes me. I have to give her credit for the spine it took to do what she did.”

“What did she do?” Geralt asks, grateful for a change of subject and the show of solidarity.

“Put her hand right down the front of my pants.”

Eskel snorts and then laughs. Geralt smiles faintly, he can well imagine how loudly his friend would have yelped. “How did no one see?” he asks.

“Oh, the desks we had. And we weren’t in the front row, either. She got me again once, standing because again we were near the back. The second time I was more ready for her and caught her arm so she couldn’t withdraw it right away. She was sweating like mad and she never did it again.”

“Did she make good on it later?” Eskel asks.

“Oh, in spades,” the bard grins brightly. “I enjoyed her company quite a bit, but never in public,” he chuckles. He watches with a bit of confusion as Eskel sets his hand on Geralt’s leg again, only for it to be pushed away. And then again. He expects to see Geralt looking furious, but there’s a sort of odd tolerance and almost amusement on his face that the bard has never seen before. At some point Geralt seems to get fed up with the game and elbows Eskel in the side. The attack was apparently out of bounds in some way, because it results in a full-on scuffle.

They’re quiet about it, but it seems like the game ends when one of them is on top, only neither one of them is willing to let the other win and be done with it. When Eskel gains the upper hand with a grin, Dandelion expects that to be the end of it. He does not expect Geralt to swing his legs up and flip them both over so that he’s on top. Something about the way Geralt works to pin Eskel under him makes the bard’s mouth go dry and he presses his thighs together.

“Alright, alright, enough,” Eskel says and Geralt releases his wrists to sit back on his haunches. He looks down in irritation at his friend, still straddling him. “I’ll leave you be,” he holds up his hands to show they’re empty and he has no intention of attacking again. Geralt takes them for a second and Eskel automatically pushes and Geralt uses the leverage to get up, and then pull Eskel to his feet after.

“The rabbits are cooked, I think,” Dandelion coughs awkwardly, trying to look anywhere but at Geralt. He rather thinks he wouldn’t mind being pinned under him, white hair falling around his face, fingers entwined, hips moving together, and he jerks himself out of the reverie. He can see Eskel watching him in the firelight and knows the witcher is aware of his desires. He swallows hard.

“They look done,” Geralt comments, pulling one skewer away from the flames to check if the meat is cooked through. No sense in spending days shitting yourself out in the woods because of undercooked coney. He pulls off a piece of the meat to check it first, and the texture seems fine. They move aside the extra so it won’t burn and start eating. Geralt, in spite of the earlier tussle, settles against Eskel’s chest as they eat.

It doesn’t seem to bother Eskel that Geralt’s mostly in his way as he tries to eat, and he just shifts to open his legs so Geralt fits between them. He leans his back against the broken bit of log they’d dragged to the camp so that he’s not supporting both himself and Geralt with just his torso. Dandelion watches as Geralt shifts to drape a leg over Eskel’s shifting slightly to make it easier for him to eat. They gnaw the rabbits to the bones before tossing them into the fire. While there’s extra, neither one of them moves to take more and Dandelion wonders if they’re making sure he has enough, first. Or if they’re simply not that hungry.

“Geralt, you usually eat more than that, we have plenty…” he offers in a strange voice he almost doesn’t recognize as his own. He doesn’t realize it’s because he would give anything to trade places with Eskel.

Geralt grunts as he leans forward awkwardly, shifting his leg to make it easier as he takes up another skewer and looks over his shoulder before selecting another. He passes one back and keeps the other for himself before leaning back into Eskel’s chest. He takes his time to settle comfortably and Dandelion finds himself reminded of a dog turning ‘round in circles before settling into bed. Or a cat kneading the blanket before settling into it. Amused, he tries to fight away the jealousy. For all some part of him absolutely hates the idea Eskel had been able to touch Geralt in ways he cannot. Or that Geralt might have been willing to touch back.

Some part of him, under the jealousy, is pleased to see Geralt had someone through what had clearly been a difficult time. He’s gladdened, even, to know that there is someone with whom Geralt has very few barriers. It’s good that he can be himself with someone. He hasn’t seen Geralt and Yennefer while their relationship was going well, or he’d know that the witcher also found refuge in the witch at times. He sincerely did not understand their relationship but he’d only witnessed her temper and selfishness on the mountain. He hadn’t seen her pain, or her joy, had never seen the way she giggled like a girl when Geralt teased and flattered her.

He’d also never seen how she just accepted him. Refused to allow him to talk about himself as an aberration or a monster. He had no idea how much that cut the witcher to the quick when people did that. Or that when he did it himself, some part of him wished someone would disagree with him. She always did. Perhaps if Geralt had any way of explaining that to him, he could do some of the same. But to him when Geralt talks about being a mutant, well, he is. So what does it matter? He loves Geralt as he is, mutations and all. He doesn’t understand Geralt doesn’t want to feel like a mutant, he doesn’t want to feel other than human because that’s what causes most of the problems in his life.

When their stomachs are full, Dandelion carefully cleans his hands of any lingering grease and goes over to Roach to carefully get his lute from where he’d tied it to her saddle. He ignores how Eskel slips his hands around Geralt’s middle to hold him closer as they settle into each other. Eskel leans forward to rest his chin on Geralt’s shoulder so that their bodies balance each other. It’s so rare Geralt looks that comfortable and content that Dandelion’s heart aches.

He checks the strings to make sure they’re all in tune but realizes he’s at a loss of what to play. It’s a peaceful night, and something rousing or epic feels wrong. A lullaby also feels out of place, too. Perhaps a love song…Dandelion sings and Eskel shifts back and forth slightly to the music. The bard has a beautiful tenor voice that he could listen to for far longer than a few songs. Geralt initially tries to fight the gentle rocking, not sure what’s happening and then relaxes into it. They haven’t done this before, that he can recall. He’s always liked Dandelion’s voice, even if he hasn’t said it. The night he’d spent with Dandelion and Essi, the way their voices had blended had been wonderful.

He starts awake some time later, and Eskel snorts and pulls away. “I didn’t want to move you, I’ve never known you to sleep so much. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes,” Geralt tells him. Dandelion had put his lute away and climbed into his bedroll at some point and Geralt can’t believe he slept through it. “Is he angry with me?” he asks softly, ashamed.

“No, he seemed almost pleased you fell asleep. Did you notice he enjoyed watching us wrestle?”

“No,” Geralt pulls away, tugging off his boots and making sure his swords are easily accessible before settling into his own bedroll.

“How are you so oblivious to him?”

“If you want to bed him so much, you’re welcome to try. I’m sure he’d be willing,” Geralt turns his back to Eskel.

With a shake of his head, Eskel looks around the small clearing. The horses are calm, and he doesn’t hear or smell anything amiss. With his swords near to hand, and boots off, he slips into his bedroll and shifts it enough that he can press his back to Geralt’s. If there is any reason to wake suddenly, they’ll be able to watch each other’s backs and fight more efficiently. It would make no sense to face the same direction on purpose.

The sun rises to shine down on the trio. Geralt wakes first, feeling oddly well rested. He notices the arm around his middle first and feels a moment of deep confusion when he sees Dandelion a few feet away from him. As he wakes up more he remembers Eskel is with him again. Oddly comforted, he almost goes back to sleep. It’s been good to not have to be on guard so much, knowing that there’s someone else just as capable and deadly as he is, only they won’t try and hurt him. He stretches out and feels his spine pop a bit. Eskel shifts and pulls away, sitting up to rub at his face and look around. He’s glad to have Geralt acting more like the person he knew before they’d finished their training. It had hurt when he’d been pushed away.

Geralt watches as Eskel tugs on his boots and buckles on his swords before disappearing into the trees. Aware of his own full bladder, he is unwilling to leave the bard unguarded and waits for Eskel to return. When he does, Geralt gets up and finds a secluded spot.

Eskel watches as the bard wakes up slowly, looking around for Geralt. He stretches out uncomfortably and looks at Eskel. They are not enemies, the witcher knows, but he’s not sure they’re friends, either. Tempted to make the situation worse, or to try and make it better, he doesn’t. Simply stares until Dandelion looks away.

“Is there running water around?” he asks as he starts neatly rolling up the bedding.

“How should I know?”

“Witcher senses?” Dandelion asks irritably. “Can’t you hear or smell these things? I know Geralt can. Typically.”

“Our senses are enhanced, but his are… more.”

“What?” he freezes, tying off the last few knots to prepare the bedrolls to be secured to the saddle. “How do you mean, more?”

“He really doesn’t tell you much, does he? He travels with you, cares for you, and yet keeps everything to himself. I don’t doubt it’s a lack of trying on your part to pry at all, is it?”

“He tells me what he wants,” Dandelion says stiffly, not liking the implication Geralt doesn’t trust him. Even if maybe that’s true. Perhaps the witcher still worries about what might find its way into song. He’s been careful about that, only things it would hurt no one to know. “I know he can see in the dark, I know he can control his pupils, I know about how far he can hear, and smell, I know his palette, while not refined, is also quite sensitive…I know his preference for dark haired women,” he snorts in disgust.

“She gives him something no one else does.” Eskel wonders if part of Dandelion’s open hatred of Yennefer is another reason Geralt doesn’t confide in him much. “Have you ever asked him what he sees in her? Or why he goes back, if she’s as horrid as you’re acting.”

“No, I haven’t. I’ve met her, I was there when they first met. She almost got him killed,” and he idly wonders what is taking Geralt so long to get back, or if he’s listening and waiting.

“What do you know about Geralt, really?” Eskel asks stretching out and starting to pack up his own things.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dandelion asks snippily.

“It seems like you have plenty of judgements and very little information to base any of it on.”

“Fine. He likes history tomes, and philosophy -although I think that’s more because he thinks it’s ludicrous rather than something he believes in- he knows more about the monsters he faces than I could possibly imagine. He is reticent at all times about sharing anything with anyone, he flinches when strangers touch him, and he thinks the mutations make him truly hideous and abnormal. I know he’s twisted and torn about inside, but he won’t tell me why, I know Blaviken cuts him to the bone still, years later. I know every life lost he thinks he could have saved he carries in his heart. So I might not have the facts of all of it like you’d like me to, but I know him. I know he’s good, and kind, he cares for his horse even if he says he doesn’t. Cats hate witchers but I think if one was friendly he’d tolerate it. He’s good with children,” the bard adds defiantly. The few that aren’t told to be afraid of him by their parents, at least, he’s good with. They ask him all sorts of questions he answers somewhat carefully. Mindful of telling them things that would upset them.

“There was a little girl once, she’d gotten lost picking posies for her mum. She’d been crying a fight and we happened to be passing by her on the way to a contract. She’d fallen and scraped up her knees and crushed one of the flowers she’d found, and was having quite the fit. Geralt had her calm, cleaned and bandaged, and up on his shoulders in minutes. And rather than keep her posy for her mother as she’d planned, she braided bits of it into his hair and he let her. The second we were past the town and there was no way she’d know, he took them all out of course.” And had slipped one of the flowers into a pouch at his belt, the rest he’d left carefully scattered in the grasses where even if she came down the road she’d never see them.

“I know whatever was done to him, he struggles with himself, and pretends to be stupid and unfeeling when he doesn’t want to face a situation. He’ll do just about anything to wriggle out of an emotional confrontation, including claiming witchers don’t have feelings.”

“We do,” Eskel says softly. They are taught to manage them and keep control. They had hoped to burn feeling out of Geralt entirely. Clearly they had not.

“I know you do! I know he does! I might not have his story, but I know him!” the bard snaps, hating the idea Eskel thinks he doesn’t know his traveling companion at all just because he can’t understand what Geralt sees in some witch. Or doesn’t know all the details of his childhood. Suffice to say it must have been deeply unpleasant overall for him to be this incompetent with managing his own feelings. “I know the stories of the scars, I hear the names he says in his sleep. I’m the one at his side day in and day out.”

“But not night in and night out, I hear,” Eskel offers idly, as though commenting on the weather.

“He doesn’t welcome me in his bed, and so sometimes I go elsewhere.”

“You’d stay if he let you?” he asks shrewdly.

“He never would. What else am I to do but quench that pain somewhere else? I can’t stay night after night and wish for something I can’t have. Better to find a distraction.”

“Why stay at all if it pains you so much?”

“Because I love him,” Dandelion says simply. “Better to have him in any part than not at all.”

Eskel stands up and starts checking Scorpion’s tack and hooves. Everything looks to be fine. “Perhaps he thinks the same as you, but doesn’t understand you’re leaving because you can’t bear to stay for want of him. Perhaps he thinks it’s because that’s all it would be to you. Bedded to boredom and left behind.” He doesn’t especially want to involve himself in this. There’s other dynamics at play and he knows it’s not his place. “I wouldn’t want to bed someone I loved knowing they would up and leave the minute they’d worked it out of their system.” He looks around and doesn’t see anything amiss as he comes over to kick dirt over the logs of their fire. It had burned down, but better to be safe than sorry.

“Where is Geralt?” Dandelion frets.

“He’ll be back soon enough, I hear him now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts?   
> I have a family member in critical condition and literally nothing I can do about it, not even visit, so like... distract me? Help me think about something else? 
> 
> I'd be curious to see if you guys think Eskel should stick his neb in and cause problems, or just dance around it... like he kind of is. I have some things planned to talk about with their training. But I mean, we're almost half done here. Are there parts of the story so far you think I should have filled in more of? I make 0 promises about anything but it would be fun to kind of see thoughts on where this might go.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the comments. They've really brightened my day.   
> Unbeta'd.

Mercifully oblivious to all that had taken place before, Geralt had untucked his shirt and used it as a temporary carry sack when he’d found an apple tree. He’d thought he could smell it, but hadn’t been sure and as such hadn’t bothered to say anything before going to investigate. It’s an odd find but perhaps when the land had belonged to the elves there had been more shape to this area. There’s ruins all over, it’s not an impossibility.

“You found breakfast?” Eskel asks.

“Smelled them,” Geralt explains, walking over to Roach first to offer her an apple. She takes it delicately and he tucks a few into her saddle bags for later before raising an eyebrow and tilting his head to Scorpion. Eskel nods and he passes the other horse an apple. Scorpion snatches it and Geralt draws his fingers back quickly rather than risk the horse taking those with the fruit. Roach snorts as if to tell him that’s why he should only share with her. Patting her neck, he walks back over and lets them take apples from his shirt.

“How did you smell them, I don’t smell anything,” Eskel says with a glance at Dandelion.

“That sweet smell, the rotting smell from the ones that fell…” Geralt shrugs. “You know my senses are stronger after they….” He trails off and looks at his hands. After they put him through extra trials.

“Ah, right,” Eskel mutters grimly. Dandelion knows the other witcher hadn’t forgotten. He’d just forced Geralt to share something he might not have otherwise. Dandelion bites into an apple, chewing thoughtfully.

_They’d stared in horror as one boy’s eyes had bubbled and boiled in their sockets and he died screaming. Geralt had vomited for what felt like hours, Eskel gripping his hair to keep it out of his face, his hold was so tight it hurt. It wasn’t always done all at once, or in small batches, they never knew what to expect. You would never know on the Path what to expect, so you had to be constantly prepared. Nothing could have prepared Geralt for this._

_Somewhere along the way he’d told himself it was an honor. He would be the best. He would save people, and hunt monsters, and be heroic. He would do good and somehow; he would find acceptance. He’d known there would be Changes. If they passed the Choosing, if they passed the training, if they were good enough, smart enough, strong enough, they would undergo the Trials and those who survived…There hadn’t been that many of them to start. Seven out of ten die. Seven out of ten. Would he be one? Would Eskel?_

_The Changes will strip you of your weaknesses, your feelings, your useless aspects of humanity. You will be superior, a mutation ready and able to kill. Able to withstand heat, cold, hunger, thirst, pain, and injury. They began learning early to hide emotions, to control them, to suppress them to prepare for who they would be after the mutations took hold._

_Crying was a sure way to earn a beating. Too much laughter, because it meant a lack of focus. So many things had to be hidden away. He had learned that ‘fun’ wasn’t acceptable. You could take a sort of pride in doing something right but not boast. You could learn from each other, but pride was the way to downfall. Humility was what mattered. Knowing in no uncertain terms what you were, who you were, and what you would do was the goal. Unfettered by the softness of emotion. Fear, Vesemir had told them, was useful to a witcher because it kept him alive, provided he did not let it control him._

_Thankfully Vesemir had never found out about his reaction to watching one of his friends die right in front of him. Eskel had a stronger stomach, but had silently cried as he held on to Geralt. Eskel survived the poisons when it was his turn. His eyes had hurt for days and he’d been sick for what felt like months. Geralt had done his best to bring Eskel food, keep him clean, and keep a damp cloth over his eyes when he wasn’t in training himself. He had made himself physically ill with worry and stress that another one of his friends might die and there was nothing he could do about it._

_When Eskel had finally pulled through his eyes had been as yellow as any wolf’s and slitted like a cat’s. Geralt had been taken next. While he had been sick for a bit, he had no where near as bad a reaction as anyone else did, proving to be more resilient to the poisons. So he had found himself being subjected to more trials and experiments than his companions. Very few of them survived. The last mutation they put Geralt through bleached his hair and lightened his skin and had made him extremely sick. Eskel nursed him through it, stayed by his side through the pain and misery, and kept him alive._

_One of the added changes had included a shift in his bones that had made his features sharper and less human. It had been agonizing. When he’d seen his reflection after all of it, he hadn’t known what to think. He didn’t recognize his own hands when he looked down, or his own body. His hair hadn’t necessarily been dark but it hadn’t been bleached white like milk. The light tan he’d had from working outside in the training yards and learning to hunt in the forests was gone and the scars were hardly a different color from the rest of his flesh. Eskel had been the one to hold him while he sobbed in horror and keep him quiet so no one would hear or know._

“Geralt!”

He startles badly, dropping a half-eaten apple into the dirt.

“Are you alright?” Dandelion asks, he’s in front of the witcher now, looking at him in concern.

“I’m fine,” he shrugs. Eskel is watching him closely and as much as he wants to learn into the other man he doesn’t. They’re all just memories now, it doesn’t matter. He rubs at his forehead and runs a hand through his hair to make sure it doesn’t look as bad as it could. He avoids mirrors and reflective surfaces. Has ever since he saw what the Changes wrought. He doesn’t recognize himself. Every time he catches a glimpse of himself it makes him freeze a little, wondering if that’s truly what he looks like now. For the most part, the boy he was has faded from memory, and he couldn’t have told anyone his original hair color, he doesn’t remember it. Nor his eye color, either. All the same the face that stares back at him is never the one he expects to see.

He jerks when an arm slips around his shoulders and he turns to fight but it’s just Eskel. “Your heart is beating hard,” he whispers, forcing Geralt against his chest.

“It’s nothing,” Geralt protests, his voice louder and more for the bard’s benefit than his own. He winces at the crunch of Eskel biting into his apple. It’s right by his ear and quite loud. The arm around him stops him from pulling away and he sighs deeply before settling in. Clearly he’s going no where fast.

Dandelion forces himself to finish his food, stomach feeling odd when he’d noticed Geralt drift away from them. It’s something he does here and there on the road, not with any real frequency but with enough that it’s never done much more than make Dandelion’s heart ache. He knows wherever the witcher retreats to, the memories aren’t pleasant. It had been hard to watch Eskel force Geralt into a hug and he’d wanted to tell Eskel to stop. But he hadn’t, he’d just kept pushing until Geralt caved. And then instantly Geralt had curled in, looking for comfort when he realized he was truly going to find it.

Tossing the core onto the dirt covering what used to be their fire he starts making sure the saddle bags are appropriately packed and the bedrolls tied to Roach’s saddle. Everything will be ready to go on his end. He steps away for a few moments to himself, and to let Geralt have a few moments with his friend.

“What were you thinking about?” Eskel asks quietly.

“The Trials, the changes, watching…” his breathing hitches. He couldn’t save any of them, couldn’t help them. Couldn’t even ease their pain. And all this years later he’s still carrying it all around inside of him. The failure. He shudders in Eskel’s embrace just like he had all those years ago.

“It’s over,” Eskel reminds him. “We are what we are. We lived.” They’re the last of their group. Not the last of the Kaer Morhen witchers, just the only survivors of the boys who underwent the training with them. Some others had made it just to die out on a contract. It pains Eskel, too, to think of them. He’s done what he can to forget their names and faces, not out of disrespect but as the only way to move forward. He didn’t kill them. He didn’t want them dead; they were his friends. Unlike Geralt, he never found any reason to blame himself. None of their lives had really been in their control until they left the keep.

He allows himself to stay close to Eskel for a few more breaths before he pulls away. This time, he’s met with no resistance. Geralt stands up and looks around. Dandelion has packed all their things and is standing with Roach. He’s been working tangles out of her mane. He holds out a hand to the other witcher to pull him up. All Eskel needs to do is attach his things to his saddle and he’s ready to move on. So he does.

They walk in relative silence, and Dandelion, being Dandelion, can’t stand it after a while and slings his lute around his shoulders so he can play as they walk. He’ll work out this song that’s forming in the back of his head. Geralt, used to the bard doing this, lets his mind wander. Eskel, on the other hand, has never had to suffer through the troubadour working out a song and finds himself listening intently.

_As boys, book learning had been a part of their training. Knowing about the monsters they faced and how to defeat them was of utmost importance. Memorization and a keen eye for detail was also something that earned rare and much sought-after praise. Geralt had a good memory and genuinely enjoyed reading. His ability to retain most of their lectures helped the other boys as he would happily talk about it all night. They learned together, Geralt patiently repeating as many facts and details as he could as the other boys worked to memorize them. It was a nightly occurrence, rather than telling stories -because they had none- Geralt helped them remember the lectures. His quiet voice would fill the silence and help them all ignore the pain in their bodies as they tried to fall asleep for the night._

_Vesemir frequently did bed checks to make sure the boys weren’t up to mischief but his patterns were random and they could never predict it. Not to mention they did not have the same enhancements he did and could not hear his footsteps before he could hear them talking and reach the room. Geralt had been the one talking, and while other boys had tried to take his punishment that night, they couldn’t. They had all done their best not to hear the slap of leather on skin and to ignore the hiss of pain each time the belt made contact._

_Crying brought extra lashes, and so Geralt shed no tears. He’d learned that first week that showing signs of weakness would do nothing to help him. It would just make it unbearable. The logic was that they were being trained for a difficult job and disobedience and a lack of respect would get them killed. They would be on their own soon enough, and if they couldn’t learn what to do with oversight they’d surely die._

_Geralt spent the night sleeping on his stomach, sleeping fitfully._

He looks over at Eskel when he feels the other witcher take his hand and squeeze it. “Do you remember we’d hold hands at night?” he asks. “Just like this.”

“Until Vesemir caught us.”

“So instead, every night we’d press hands just like this,” he squeezes Geralt’s hand again and lets go. He sighs heavily. “Not everything was horrible at Kaer Morhen. We had good nights, too.”

“And good days,” Geralt concedes. He has no idea if Eskel had parsed out his thoughts or was just talking about the past. “We grew up more normally than I think we realize. An apprenticeship of any kind isn’t meant to be softness and sugar. It’s to learn a trade.”

Eskel glances back, Dandelion is still fussing with his lute and doesn’t appear to be listening in on them. His tongue pokes out slightly past his lips and his brow is furrowed. Must be thinking hard, Eskel figures. In that same whisper they learned as children, he asks, “What did you want from the bard? Truly?”

“What I have. That’s enough.”

“In a magical world where you could actually have what you wanted. What would you have from him?”

Geralt looks away, and his skin feels hot. “We would be good,” he mumbles. “Like when Yennefer and I are good.”

Eskel understands that his friend doesn’t mean ‘good’ in a sense of morality or even functionality, necessarily.

“We would talk about things from Oxenfurt and he wouldn’t disdain me. Or tell me I’m too stupid to know the context so I can’t possibly comment on it. His fascination with me wouldn’t be because I’m a witcher.” He breathes through his nose and then swallows hard. “She sees me, Eskel,” he adds weakly. “We aren’t always good for each other, or good to each other, but she sees me.” Geralt rubs at his forehead for a few seconds. “She thinks I’m human.” He swallows convulsively. He misses that about her. “I wish the trials really did burn the humanity completely out of us. I try and try to push the feelings down, but they never stay gone.”

“Does the bard not see you?” he asks.

“He sees the witcher,” Geralt says simply.

Eskel thinks about Dandelion’s little speech by the fire. “I think he seems more. Just unlike your Yennefer he’s not willing to tussle with you head on.”

“Perhaps he thinks it isn’t worth it.”

“I think you’d be surprised. He still follows you around after all these years of your constant rejection.”

“I don’t reject him,” Geralt hisses, voice still barely audible.

“That’s funny, I don’t see you allowing him to touch you much.”

“The minute he realizes there is nothing special or interesting about me, he will be off to his next lover. Only to discover the same thing about him. There’s only so many places he can stick his cock before he gets bored and looks for something new. Everything is about the thrill and change and excitement. The minute he sees there is none of that in me…” his throat is too tight to swallow so he spits on the path.

“We don’t have to hate ourselves, Geralt. That wasn’t part of the training.”

“I withstood extra and still couldn’t be what they wanted or needed,” Geralt snaps back. Just like he cannot be what Yennefer needs, or what Dandelion wants or needs.

Eskel stops trying to engage Geralt in conversation after that. They’re not getting anywhere. When the white-haired witcher pulls himself into the saddle, Eskel watches him ride a little bit ahead. “Walk with me, bard.”

“Do any of you have manners?” he asks pointedly, but obliges, carefully shifting his lute so it rests against his back. He knows if Eskel is anything like Geralt he won’t answer that. Or rephrase his request to be more polite.

“I am not speaking about this with you again, and I will not interfere again. I already feel like what I’m doing is a betrayal, don’t make me regret it even more,” he cautions. “Whatever you’ve done to make him think your only interest in him is the adventure of traveling with a witcher, you’d best undo it. He wants more from you than a by-your-leave-fuck-and-go. He doesn’t think you want more than that from anyone, so if he’s wrong, you had best prove him wrong. In spite of anything he says, he’s an idealist at heart and wants more than what he thinks you have to offer him.”

Dandelion splutters incoherently until Eskel firmly tells him to shut up. He does, trying to get his mind to wrap around what he’s just been told. “He won’t talk to me.”

“Perhaps because apparently when he tries, you inform him he’s too stupid to have that kind of discussion with you?” Eskel suggests. He thinks about what Geralt had said earlier. “We did study at the temple of Melitele as children. We might not have the education you do, having studied at Oxenfurt, but he has the wherewithal to speak on what he’s reading. He wouldn’t bother to read it if he had no ability to comprehend it.”

“I don’t do that! I’ve never done that. I try to get him to join me in an academic debate and he just tells me to fuck off!” Dandelion protests.

“Has it occurred to you, that perhaps having not had a university education, that might be something he wouldn’t understand? We’ve lived history, bard, we can parse it out. We know what it is to see empires rise and fall and know they will again. We know what it means to see power corrupted, and bad rulers, and cruel leaders. None of that is foreign or beyond comprehension. I don’t know what an academic debate is in the sense you do, but perhaps he just doesn’t want to argue with you.”

“You state an opinion and then you argue it using facts from the text, or something similar. It’s not meant to…it’s how most of us…we’d just start…oh, dear.”

“This is now your problem, not mine,” he shrugs and swings himself up into his saddle.

Dandelion feels and rejects the urge to hate Eskel. He also resists the urge to cry. That won’t help anything. He understands what Eskel is telling him. He’s been going about everything all wrong. And in doing so, he’s also hurt his friend deeply across the years. It’s not as if they haven’t argued, or fought, or Geralt hasn’t hurt his feelings badly on more than one occasion. It’s just that he hadn’t realized it was in the little things, too. Eskel’s pointed questions about if he even knew Geralt at all sting far worse now than they did before. He latches onto the fact Eskel had told him Geralt wanted him. In spite of all of this, Geralt wanted to be with him.

Eskel catches up to Geralt fairly easily, and nudges Scorpion to walk close enough he can lightly kick Geralt’s stirrup.

“What?” There’s an edge to his voice that hadn’t been there before, and he’s clearly expecting another form of rebuke.

“Why do you make him walk?”

“Roach can’t carry us both for long distances.”

“Really, though, you have the ability to walk far longer than he does.”

“Roach hates when he rides her and plays his lute. I hate when he’s right in my ear, playing the lute.”

“You like his music,” Eskel half asks, wondering what other odd barriers his friend has put up around himself. “When did you become like this, Geralt? What happened?” he asks softly.

“When they botched it all.” He lightly kicks Roach into a faster walk and she jerks her head a bit in protest, forcing him to keep a firm grip on the reins.

Dandelion watches them close the distance and then sees Geralt widen it again. At least it’s something consistent about him. He isn’t too surprised that Eskel doesn’t try and catch up. He travels close to the dark-haired witcher for hours. Outside of him fussing with his lute, neither one of them speaks much. Night begins to fall and Dandelion sighs. Another uncomfortable evening awaits.

He automatically starts helping Geralt set up camp again, he knows exactly how the other man likes things done. The fire is started already, some extra branches and sticks piled nearby. Too far for a spark to catch but close enough to allow them to stay in the protective glow once darkness falls.   
“Are you alright?” he asks Geralt quietly when they pass each other in their respective tasks.

Geralt simply grunts and ignores the question the same way he would a thousand times before.

“It’s me, you can tell me,” Dandelion pleads softly. He catches Geralt by the sleeve and tries not to look as hurt as he feels. “I know you, as much as you’ll let me at least. What’s wrong?”

A million things flash through Geralt’s head and he can’t catch a single coherent thought to give the bard an answer. He pulls his sleeve away and shakes his head a bit. “You’re just reading into things. Imagining all sorts of things and depths that aren’t there.”

“I’ll see if I can find more rabbit. Or perhaps something a bit larger,” Eskel tells them and heads out into the gathering darkness.

“That’s not fair, Geralt. I’ve been at your side off and on for years now. I’ve done my best to keep myself to myself, and to not push you into anything. I knew you didn’t like being touched. Or so I thought. I thought you’d learn to tolerate me, I didn’t realize you ached for it, you stupid bastard. How many nights could we have spent in each other’s arms if you would just stop lying to me when I ask you a question?”

“Why would you want to be in the arms of a stupid bastard?” he retorts. “I’d rather not be,” he adds, checking the picket line for both Roach and Scorpion. They both seem fine. He’d initially been worried the mare would take offense to being stuck with a male horse, but she hadn’t tried to pick any fights. Of course, Scorpion hadn’t tried to mount her.

Rather than scream or have a fit, Dandelion marches over to where Geralt is standing and slips his arms around the witcher’s middle and braces himself for some kind of attack. He knows Geralt won’t do worse than knock him over, but all the same he’s ready for it. When nothing happens he dares to open his eyes. He’s still standing there, his arms are still around Geralt, and they aren’t moving. “I don’t think you’re stupid.”

“You could have fooled me,” Geralt points out, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice.

“Why would I follow you around everywhere if I really thought that? Why would I try and talk to you and ask you questions and listen to you when we travel?”

“For the songs,” Geralt says softly. “For your fifty years of poetry. For the singular joy of being able to tell the world you can walk beside a witcher and they can’t.” 

“Truly, that’s what you think?” Dandelion is aghast. “How could I possibly, how could you possibly… we’ve been together off and on for…Geralt, how…” He releases his hold to reach up a shaking hand to Geralt’s shoulder to try and turn him. The witcher allows it but won’t look him in the eyes. “I am so sorry.” He can’t even fathom why Geralt has let him stay by his side this long if this is what he believes about their relationship. Perhaps it’s just so he didn’t have to be alone, clearly he doesn’t mind some company, given how quickly he had settled in with Eskel. It had been years and yet immediately he’d been in the other witcher’s lap in seconds.

“I don’t know what to think,” Geralt turns his face away. The misery Dandelion is feeling burns his nose he can smell it so strongly. “I’m not human, Dandelion. I don’t…”

“But you are, Geralt. You are human,” the bard interrupts, daring to cup Geralt’s cheek. Gently and half afraid, he presses a kiss to the witcher’s cheek. Now isn’t the time for anything more than that, and he knows it. “I admit that when we started out travels, I wanted the fame being the first to know your stories would bring. And it has brought me plenty of attention. I’ve come to know you somewhat, perhaps not as deeply as I’d hoped. I see I’ve made many mistakes and wrong assumptions. But Geralt, I don’t stay with you for the songs. Not for years. A few months in I knew…” his throat squeezes. He can see the misery and pain in his companion’s face. “At first I thought you’d never be interested in another man. And then a few weeks ago I learned that wasn’t the case. Geralt, I genuinely enjoy being with you. Even when you’re trying to push me away.”

Geralt sharpens his hearing, checking the woods around them as he tilts his head slightly. He’s not sure if he wants Eskel to come back or not and interrupt this. Would it be embarrassing to have him overhear? Or just a welcome relief to make the conversation stop. He rubs at his forehead, wishing this wasn’t happening. His heart has dropped into his stomach, he feels, and has chosen to beat there, making him feel ill. What is Dandelion saying? Is this going to be a goodbye? A way of him saying that this is enough and there’s just no way to move forward? “I can’t be what you want,” Geralt tells him abruptly.

“I didn’t ask you to be anything,” the bard protests. He takes Geralt’s hands and squeezes them. “I am just learning there’s another side of you, and I know that side might not be something I see again. Or can coax out of you, but I am content with you as you are. Or at least as you want to show yourself to me. I know your heart is good, Geralt. I know under all that stoicism and anger you’re a good man. You won’t let yourself believe that or believe that I can see it. You…I wish you could see yourself as I see you,” he whispers softly. He’s surprised and hopeful that this might all work because Geralt has not pulled away. He’s tighter than a bowstring and seems to be shaking a little, but at least he’s listening.

“And once I give you what you think you want; you’ll find it wasn’t enough and you’ll go searching again. I’ll be left as I was before you decided to trail me around.”

“And what exactly do you think I want?”

“You think you love me,” Geralt tells him, voice maddeningly calm. “You think you love me, the same as you thought you loved all the others. You’re full of affection and kindness and it spills out everywhere you go. And so you’ll fuck me, and kiss me, and you will change our entire relationship and rearrange my entire world, and then you will realize that there’s nothing special to be had. I won’t be enough, and so you’ll go back searching. And another beautiful woman will thrill you the way I used to, or perhaps another man. Eventually, maybe one day when you are old and tired of flitting about you will find someone to settle with. But it won’t be me,” he’s proud his voice doesn’t crack. “I don’t want to open that door, Dandelion. I can’t because when you shut it on me I won’t be able to bear it.”

“Geralt, I think you misunderstand more than you understand. At least about that. I thought I could never have you. I thought you would only sleep with women. And so I found a willing body to share my affections with because I couldn’t sleep beside you night after night and not want to touch you. It wasn’t fair or right, I felt, to sleep next to you and want you. Eventually the temptation might have won out and you’d have throttled me for it. Or banished me from your side forever. Some nights I would lie awake aching for you. The moment we reached a town where I could steal away some time to alleviate that ache, I did. Could you imagine how I would have felt, how embarrassed? Waking up next to you with my cock hard dreaming of touching you the way I’ve wanted to for years?”

“If I understand, and can imagine correctly what you’re saying to me, is you want me so badly you’ve fucked everyone but me.” He thinks he does understand a little. Maybe not entirely.

“I couldn’t very well walk around with my cock hard every time I saw you, I had to do something about it. And it would be very uncomfortable to use my hand while sharing your bedroll. Especially with your witchery senses,” the bard protests. “If I had known you thought it meant I could not remain faithful to anyone, I might have done things differently.”

Geralt swallows hard and shrugs, he has no words for any of this. This is beyond anything he’s ever had to deal with, and unlike Yennefer, Dandelion can’t pluck the thoughts and feelings from his head. How could they both have made such a mess of things? “I don’t think we know each other at all, not how we thought,” he forces out, and the shame chokes him.

“I think we know each other well enough,” Dandelion argues. “But I also think perhaps we’ve spent so much time trying to hide from each other we’ve done each other a great disservice.” He takes a few breaths and Geralt can hear his heart racing. “I love you, Geralt. I have for years. I might not know all your secrets, or how to always best be your friend. But I know your heart. I know your habits, I know that you are so much more than you believe yourself to be. I’ve said it before and I will tell you as many times as you need to hear it. I know so many small details about you, the way you write your letters, how to pack up your bags the way you like, do you think I would learn all of that if I didn’t care?”

With a deep sigh, Geralt leans in to press his forehead gently against Dandelion’s. “We have days before we’ll reach a town.”

“I know,” Dandelion tells him, confused.

“I need time. I need time to think. I need time to try and understand. I love you, but I don’t know if I can bear losing you. I would rather have you as a friend than lose you as a lover.”

“You wouldn’t,” he insists. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“I have never seen you do differently,” Geralt says gently. “Please…” he begs and Dandelion understands that Geralt truly does need time.

“I understand,” he says finally, heart heavy. He isn’t sure what he expected. It wasn’t as if he’d thought Geralt would suddenly kiss him or sweep him off his feet. Or had he? He pulls back slightly and presses a light kiss to the corner of Geralt’s mouth. When Geralt turns his head again, listening intently, he hears footsteps and slowly releases Dandelion’s hands after giving them one last gentle squeeze.

“There’s a stream, I think. We should be able to wash our clothes soon,” he says as a peace offering. And a change of subject. Geralt steps away to reassure himself that it’s Eskel’s footsteps he’s hearing, and not someone else. He isn’t so sure he didn’t break his own heart just then. At least he did it now, before Dandelion could push him into more. The idea of the bard’s body against his makes his entire body ache to be touched. Some part of him vaguely understands why the bard might seek other bedmates if he felt like this all of the time.

“Geralt?” Eskel seems almost surprised to find his friend walking towards him. He has a small deer slung over his shoulders.

“Impressive.”

“I know we don’t have time to properly dry the extra meat, but it might keep for a little longer than a day if we cook enough. Save me some trouble tomorrow.”

“I could hunt tomorrow, if you’re that tired of it.”

“It’s not that,” Eskel promises. “Are you alright?”

“I don’t know,” Geralt tells him honestly. He has no idea why he came out this way, other than perhaps to get some much-needed space.

“What happened?”

“Nothing,” Geralt lies.

“Geralt.”

“I think when we reach the town, Dandelion will leave me,” he says quietly, his throat squeezing and making it near impossible to talk.

“Did you try and drive him off? Did you agree to part ways?” Eskel asks, deeply confused. He keeps walking towards their campsite but does it slowly.

“No, he said some things…and it isn’t…I’m not… I think he understands now. I think the illusion he had, I don’t know.”

“You’re making no sense whatsoever,” Eskel informs him. When they reach the clearing the bard is sitting morosely by the fire, strumming his lute. The notes that fill the air are miserable and Eskel has a feeling the bard has no intention of leaving. He’s just had a rather rude awakening. He drops the deer by the fire. “Do you mind skinning it? I want to see if I heard running water or not, and I’d fill our waterskins and make sure the horses had enough.”

“I can manage,” Dandelion says. “I’ll even get it set to cooking.” He tries to be cheerful. “I found some tubers I know aren’t poisonous though I don’t know the name. It should make a nice change along with some of the extra apples. We’ll have a feast,” he smiles weakly.

“I’m going to need Geralt’s help,” Eskel informs him.

“I wouldn’t stand in your way,” Dandelion tells him agreeably, putting the lute away and exchanging it for a sharp knife.

Eskel goes to his pack and gathers up what he needs before untying Scorpion’s lead so he can walk the horse to the water. Geralt does the same, finding Dandelion’s mostly empty waterskin as well. He’ll fill their small soup pot, too. They walk the horses to the edge of the water, and Geralt notes with disappointment that it’s much too small to do any kind of swimming or find any enjoyment in it. At least they should be able to rinse some of the sweat from their clothes. Eskel takes Roach’s reins from Geralt and secures them to a branch overhanging the water along with Scorpion’s. The horses can reach the water and reach some grass. He sets down the waterskins and takes Geralt’s, too. They can fill them in a minute.

Eskel eases his arms around the other man’s shoulders and holds him tightly. Geralt goes rigid in his arms for a few seconds, trying to master himself. He can’t, it just hurts too much. Dandelion is not a patient man, and Geralt can’t imagine how he’ll work through all of what he’s feeling in time to keep the bard. If he should even try. What if he’s right and they’ll ultimately fail?

“They never did figure out how to make your heart hard, did they?” Eskel asks him quietly, and Geralt tries to laugh but it comes out as a choked sob. “I think they managed with Lambert and Coen, but it also made them stupid, so perhaps we got the better end of the deal. Time seems to have done that to Vesemir just fine. Or perhaps his unfortunate trip to the bottom of the privy is what managed that.”

That does manage to make Geralt laugh just a bit. That’s probably one of his favorite memories and he finds himself clinging to Eskel as the laughter turns to silent tears. He had just wanted to help others. To be knighted, to be good and instead his whole life revolved around contracts and money. Going hungry, being chased out of towns because of his appearance, being told he had less rights than others because he was less human. It would be easier if he could be the witcher he pretends to be. Cold, aloof, unfeeling.

“My biggest fear is that I’ll turn into someone like Vesemir,” Eskel says quietly. “I’d rather feel pain if it meant I could still feel happiness, too.” This isn’t a conversation he could have with just anyone. Their bond is deeper than any other he’s had in his life. He knows Geralt will understand. If someone were to observe them near the keep, or in hostile towns, they would see two very different men; hard, cold, dangerous, and empty of morality.

Here, in the forest at night, with no one to hear them, they can be themselves for a few moments.

Here, in the forest at night, with no one to hear them, they can grieve the boys they were, and the men they might have been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have some flashbacks that, if I can write them, will show Vesemir wasn't all bad. For the record. Just harsh. I had a slightly different outline for this but like what I wanted to write and what's coming out aren't quite lining up? 
> 
> But hopefully you're still enjoying the fic. If have read any of my other fics, you should know the fluff will happen. I can't stand miserable endings. So like, don't give up hope on me here. I am like, weirdly heavily influenced by the not so great things Dandelion does/says in the books, but kind of wanting him to have to own it for once. Geralt has his own shit to work thru, too, so I hope that like, the resolution of all of that will be as satisfying as I'm hoping. Sorry fam, I'm rambling. I really wanted to post this tonight and so I stayed up to finish the chapter. 
> 
> Thanks to those of you who sent well wishes, I haven't heard anything, so it's still kind of just an agonizing wait. So preemptive thanks to anyone who comments. I appreciate you.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Semi-graphic? smut? sort... of? I don't know. Just, heads up.

**Part 4**

Geralt reluctantly pulls away. He lets Eskel wipe tears off his face because he can’t see them and he doesn’t want the bard to notice anything amiss. He does the same in turn, surprised to find Eskel upset, too.

“You could never be like Vesemir,” Geralt tells him quietly. “He never had much of a sense of humor.”

Eskel snorts, “No he didn’t.”

“He wasn’t all bad,” Geralt adds softly. Occasionally Vesemir had told them stories. Or had praised them. He wasn’t necessarily always unkind, either. Just stern and gruff. He’d never done anything to them out of cruelty. Just necessity.

The witchers silently replenish their water supplies and lead the horses back to camp. Dandelion has the food cooking on the fire and looks relieved when they come back. Eskel pickets the horses again and Geralt sorts out their water. The sit together by the fire, Geralt desperately needing the closeness of another person. One that doesn’t come with strings attached or other complications.

Dandelion feels odd as he watches them together. He understands Geralt’s reluctance to be close to him, now. Afraid of losing it at any minute, he’d rather not have it all. But, Eskel could die on the next contract, or they could part ways and not see each other again for decades. Perhaps it’s just the knowledge that it’s simple friendship and nothing more. Although, the bard knows he had offered that, as well, and Geralt hadn’t trusted it much either. Not enough to let him in all the way.

The venison is almost cooked through, and he watches them settle into each other further as they wait. Needing something to do with his hands, he pulls out his lute again. Carefully tuning it, not that it truly needs it, not since he’d acquired it in Posada, he hums lightly. Perhaps there’s a song to be sung about childhood friends, torn apart by the vagaries of fate, only to be drawn back together when they need each other most. He tries and discards several couplets, oblivious to the witchers stopping their dinner from burning and portioning it out.

“Don’t interrupt him,” Geralt tells Eskel quietly. “He’ll just get mad if he loses any of what he’s working on.”

“I just leave his food by his side and hope the ants don’t take it?”

“He’ll eat them without noticing,” Geralt mumbles.

“You don’t say anything?”

“At some point, he’ll reach for it, ants or not, and eat it, and if I interrupt him he’ll just squawk at me. It won’t accomplish anything unless I take the food from him direct.”

“Suppose it’s a good thing there’s just normal black ants around here,” Eskel makes a slight face.

“We’ve eaten worse.”

“True, we have.” Learning which bugs were edible, how to prepare them, along with various types of root, snake, and plant had not been a fun nor rewarding class. Learning about how to remove stingers and pincers from dangerous creatures to make them edible had been far less than ideal. “I stung myself, do you recall?”

“Several times. You were no good at getting the stingers out of those giant wasps,” Geralt grins. “I was better at it. And with your hands so swollen there was no way for you to keep trying…so I fudged it when the training master wasn’t looking,” he has to think to remember, his voice trailing off. “I don’t think we got caught at all, did we?”

“No, I said I stung myself after I got it worked out, and they believed it. I guess all those strappings turned me into a better liar.”

“Taught me I could sleep through far more than I had initially believed I could,” Geralt agrees blandly. “Your hands looked ridiculous.”

“They told me it would pass quickly enough.”

“Until you puffed up to your elbows and your face started to swell.”

“I was hauled back to the keep rather quickly, wasn’t I?”

“On horseback, no less.”

“They put me to rights quickly enough,” Eskel reminds Geralt.

“They kept you in the infirmary overnight,” Geralt half whispers. “I was so scared you’d died and they wouldn’t tell me. I couldn’t sleep at all.”

“And you gave up on it and snuck into the infirmary to check. If I recall you almost got your hide tanned, again, for sleeping in my bed.”

“It would have been worth it. The healer always had more patience for us than anyone else. He just woke me and told me to get back to the dormitory before our training masters came looking. I was so scared he’d snitch, or that he’d hurt you in my place.”

“You never spent much time in that room, did you?”

“No,” Geralt admits. “I rarely got hurt badly enough some dirt rubbed in with some spit wouldn’t have fixed it. And then after the trials, we healed so much quicker…”

“I suppose very few of us did, if I’m being honest,” Eskel says pensively. “I suppose we mostly just died if we got injured and no one or thing would have saved us in the first place. So it hardly mattered. And they didn’t much care if we scarred badly, so we didn’t get treated for anything that wasn’t life threatening.”

Their conversation falls off as they eat, and they watch the bard as he waves around his meal as he mutters to himself, occasionally remembering to eat.

“I don’t see ants.”

“Then he’s gotten lucky this time, or left it less time than usual,” Geralt comments placidly.

“That’s for the best, then.”

“Yes.”

“Will he even sleep tonight, or will this carry on until dawn?”

“He’ll fall asleep eventually no matter his intention.”

“You know his habits well,” Eskel points out carefully.

“Yes, and as soon as we stop in the town, all his pretty words will mean nothing, and he’ll find himself a new bed to sleep in.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“What do you mean if he doesn’t?”

“Geralt, what if he means what he says. What if he fully intends to stay with you?”

“He might mean it now, but he’s a bard. He won’t even remember what he’s said, soon enough. Or what was true won’t be. Their feelings and emotions change just as often as the tones of their songs.”

“Perhaps if you would stop being such a pessimist about it you’d have a better chance.”

“Perhaps,” Geralt agrees without rancor.

“I don’t see why you won’t even try it, what if he’s terrible in bed? You’ve spent all these days imagining how he’d feel under you, or his hands on you -don’t think I haven’t seen how you watch his hands when he’s playing the lute- and then you find out he’s a terrible lover.” Eskel laughs when Geralt pulls away slightly, pressing his legs tightly together. He leans forward, determined to tease now that he knows he can get under the other witcher’s skin. “You’ve thought about how he’d touch you, certainly better than you do it yourself, what kind of tricks he might knows seeing as how he’s had so many lovers. You wonder what it would be like to make him squirm for you the same way you want to for him, and yet you won’t even take the chance?” Eskel leans back, trying not to laugh as Geralt shifts in the dirt uncomfortably. “I say try it before you hit the town, see if it’s even worth all the trauma you’re putting yourself through.”

Geralt hits him in the leg, not hard, but hard enough to make him wince. He barks a laugh when the other man gets up and walks away from the firelight. He keeps going long enough that he’s out of earshot and Eskel knows exactly what he’s gone off to do, alone, against recommendation.

Dandelion finishes his food, strums out a few more chords and suddenly remembers where he is. He looks around owlishly, surprised to see Geralt missing. “What did I miss? Is he alright? When did he leave?”

Eskel laughs again, unsurprised that Geralt had not been remotely exaggerating. “I don’t know, we got into a bit of an argument. I think he’s stalked off to go sulk alone.”

“He does that sometimes,” Dandelion says sagely. ‘Although if you let him go too long, he mightn’t come back. Or he’ll be hurt worse. You shouldn’t let him stew too long.”

“Oh, it’s not me that has him stewing,” Eskel grins, the flickering of the fire makes his eyes glow. “I’m going to sleep. I suspect he’ll be back soon enough when he’s had a chance to cool off. Unless you’re going to go rescue him from himself. Then he might take longer, I don’t know.”

Utterly confused, the bard tries to recall anything other than his ballad. There’s nothing there, he has no memory of them talking, or of Geralt leaving. “Fuck it all,” he groans. There’s more at play here. Fairly sure what will happen is he’s going to let his curiosity win out, go into the woods, find Geralt and get his head bitten off. Then he’ll come back to the fire and Eskel will get a good laugh and eventually Geralt will traipse his way back to the camp full of frustration and anger. Then things will be even worse for the next few days. “You’re a horrible friend.”

“I’m not your friend,” Eskel points out.

“You’re not exactly doing him any favors right now, either,” Dandelion breathes through his nose.

“Hm,” Eskel shrugs. “Or it looks different than what you might think. If you’re going to go check on him, you said it yourself. Sooner is better than later. But go quietly. Don’t give him a chance to anticipate you coming any earlier than he has to. You know it’ll just make him angrier.”

With a groan, the bard carefully packs his lute into its case and tucks his knife into his belt. He’d rather not go out into the dark without a weapon. Geralt’s taught him some caution over the years. “I know I’m going to live to regret this,” he mutters.

So quietly no mortal ears could hear it, Eskel replies sincerely, “I hope not.” For all if it backfires, they both will.

Dandelion uses as much of the woodcraft as Geralt’s taught him that he can. He navigates near silently over fallen leaves and broken branches. He can’t trace the witcher in the dark, but he knows about which direction they’d come from earlier and assumes Geralt would have gone in the same direction. Also the horses’ hoofprints from being led to water in back are easy enough to see. When he finally hears running water he pauses, thinking he hears something else, too. Something all too human and oddly out of place amongst the crickets and soft animal sounds in the night. Something a little too desperate, and a little too rhythmic.

The sound makes the bard’s stomach flutter and with years of experience he recognizes it, but what he doesn’t recognize is the voice. It’s Geralt, of course it is, but the soft near silent sounds don’t sound like anything he’d ever make. Frozen, his fantasies will be haunted by those sounds the rest of his life. Tempted to back away and pretend he never saw, or to suddenly step on a branch or kick a rock, he doesn’t. He creeps closer until he can see white hair in the dark. Geralt’s propped himself against a tree and while he’s leaned back, he doesn’t seem to be enjoying himself much.

Geralt’s eyes snap open when he catches Dandelion’s scent and his hand freezes. “Go away,” he growls, ashamed.

“I shan’t,” Dandelion says stupidly before realizing he’s even spoken. “The way you’re doing that it’s like you’d rather die than do it, but you can’t help yourself,” he says boldly, stepping up closer. “Even alone, can’t you be kind to yourself?” he asks softly, barely breathing. He can’t see well in the dark but he knows Geralt is staring at him, probably glaring, honestly. Another step brings him closer and he knows the witcher can see him straining against his trousers. Even in the face of Geralt’s ire, he still wants him. As a friend, as a lover, it doesn’t matter. He won’t keep fucking it up.

“Eskel sent you, didn’t he?” Geralt asks hoarsely, hands still over his groin, not that there’s any point in trying to hide it. It was fairly obvious what he was doing. In the darkness he can see Dandelion’s desire, the way his lips purse slightly, his tongue running over them, pupils huge, cheeks flushed… he can hear the bard’s heartbeat.

“No, not how you’d think,” Dandelion tells him.

The bard’s obvious arousal makes it impossible for Geralt to quench his own, especially not when he’d been so close to release. “He suggested I try you out, first. In case you weren’t worth all the heartache.”

“Does your heart ache for me, Geralt?” Dandelion quirks a brow. “Because it doesn’t have to. You have me,” he takes the last step so that their bodies are flush, Geralt’s hands trapped between them, pressing into both of them. “Tell me you truly want me to leave, tell me truthfully you don’t want me to touch you instead, tonight.”

“He’ll know.”

“Is he your lover?”

“No.”

“Then what does it matter?”

“It doesn’t.” Geralt’s breathing hitches and stops when the bard gently pushes his hands away, lacing their fingers together momentarily before releasing them. He tips his head back to let it rest against the tree. Warm hands drag their way up his thighs but stop short of his crotch.

“I won’t force you,” the bard says softly.

“This doesn’t mean I’ve made a decision,” Geralt clarifies.

“I can understand that. I’m not asking you to decide that yet, you said when we reached the town. I can wait that long for that answer. Or a bit longer, if you aren’t sure of what you want. But right now, right here,” the heat of his hands burns against the insides of Geralt’s legs. “I need an answer about this.”

“Don’t go,” Geralt tells him, “don’t go.” He can’t say what he wants to. It sounds too brazen, too cliché, too stupid. “Touch me,” he begs, feeling ridiculous.

“I won’t go,” Dandelion promises, hating the pain he hears in Geralt’s voice. Suddenly unsure if what they’re doing is a good idea, he’d just pushed his way into the situation. Fairly sure if he backed out now it would make things worse, and he doesn’t want to. He can slow it down, and he can give them both an out if they need it. Gently, he kisses the witcher, he moves his hands up Geralt’s body to cup his cheek and press against his chest, pushing their bodies together. He squeaks slightly when Geralt bends and catches him under the leg and lifts him up. He hadn’t expected that.

“Alright?” Geralt asks hoarsely.

“Yes,” Dandelion promises fervently. He wraps his legs tightly around the other man’s waist. After a perfect eternity, “put me down, love,” and he feels Geralt’s hands carefully withdraw. He shifts his grip and lets himself slide down Geralt’s hips before feeling his feet touch the ground. They’re going to have to rinse their clothes in the stream the following morning, Dandelion things regretfully. His trousers are stained on both sides now. He slips his hands under Geralt’s shirt at first, teasing him a bit, and the witcher breathes a soft sigh of irritation against his neck. “Alright, I won’t play anymore,” Dandelion tells him quietly between kisses. He hadn’t expected Geralt to be so _quiet_. It’s almost disconcerting but travelling with the man for years has left the bard an expert at reading his body language. He lets his hand drop and finally touch.

Geralt forgets to breathe when Dandelion’s palm caresses him, fingers ghosting over his length before finding a hold that’s comfortable. He pushes back into the tree to stop himself from collapsing in relief, heels digging into the soft earth. It’s frustrating to get the bard’s trousers undone and out of the way enough to return the favor. He can barely think, much less coordinate his hands to stay out of Dandelion’s way with the bard touching him like _that_. His hips stutter forward of their own accord, needing the bard to touch him more.

Years of learning to do this in silence keeps him from being able to relax enough to make a sound, and some part of him wants to tell the bard how good it feels. Wants to beg him to keep going. Wants to thank him for being so gentle, and for kissing him the way he is. The other part of him can’t think to speak, can’t do much more than lightly pant and kiss back when the bard kisses him. He knows he’s managed to keep his hand moving because he can feel Dandelion’s muscles shake here and there and can hear the soft moans and higher pitched breathy sounds that indicate he’s doing it right. He’s found something the bard likes, and he doesn’t let up. If he does, if he loses his rhythm for even a second, he’s not sure he’ll ever get it back, Dandelion is very good.

“Relax,” the bard whispers gently, kissing the side of his neck. “Relax, I can take my pleasure after, it’s alright,” he promises. He can tell Geralt’s too tense, trying too hard to think and unable to let his guard down fully. “I know you care, just relax love.” He’s found an old adage to be true, people will touch you how they like being touched. If they truly care they’ll learn what you like and learn that, too. He tries a few of the things Geralt had done and feels the witcher shiver against him, head tipping back again. “You liked that, didn’t you?” Dandelion confirms, voice as quiet as he can make it. He’s been watching Geralt’s face as best he can in the dark and listening for each and every change in his breathing, and now he thinks he’s got the hang of it. He can talk to him like he’s wanted to for years. He can tell the other man is right at the edge, and he finally relaxes his hand, pulling it out of Dandelion’s pants to run it through his hair and pull him in for kisses by the back of his neck.

He obliges happily and smiles when he feels Geralt trembling against him. He has no idea what’s holding him back, and tries a little more speed, but that doesn’t seem to be it. “I won’t let you fall,” he says stupidly, feeling the tension in Geralt’s legs as he tries to hold himself up. He allows his free hand to roam Geralt’s body indiscriminately, touching all he’s wanted to. “You feel just as good as you look, do you know that?” he asks, pressing a kiss to the witcher’s collarbone. He manages to worm his arm between Geralt’s back and the tree, pulling him in closer. Finally, finally, he feels the witcher relax, bit by bit. Geralt puts an arm around his shoulders and he can feel the hand twisting into his shirt to hold tightly. “I’ve got you,” he promises. “I’m with you, I’m not going anywhere.” Geralt jerks in his arms, and Dandelion releases his cock to wrap his other arm around Geralt, holding him up as his knees almost buckle with the force of it.

Geralt clings to Dandelion tightly, afraid if he lets go none of it will be real. Embarrassed, he hasn’t come like that in ages. And he’d been in a bed. Far less likely to fall over. The wave had crested over and completely swamped him and he’d all but taken leave of his senses. It takes him a few seconds to remember he owes the bard a release of his own. He wants to, he doesn’t owe him, he wants to be the one. He wants to hear the soft moaning noises, the breathy whispers, and choked off breaths, he wants to cause it again. And so he does.

Utterly unsurprised when Dandelion comes against him with a low moan, he is somewhat thankful the bard bothered to try and muffle it. Closer to the end, the bard had pressed his face into Geralt’s shoulder in an attempt to keep himself quieter. Pleased he’d left the bard just as shaky as the bard had left him, Geralt holds onto him while Dandelion clings to his shoulders.

“Oh, that was good,” Dandelion promises him in a low voice. He straightens to kiss up the side of Geralt’s neck and along his jaw before finding his mouth. “You’re a very quick learner, did you know that?” the bard purrs. He looks down in surprise when he feels Geralt’s cock twitch against him. He reaches down to stroke it gently, enjoying the feel of the silky skin beneath his fingertips. “You don’t need much time to recover, do you?” he grins as Geralt’s cock grows firm under his touch.

“No, I don’t,” Geralt admits. He can’t help but want to feel all that again. Not to mention he’s in no hurry whatsoever to go back to the fire. If they can delay long enough, it’s possible Eskel will have gone to sleep out of sheer boredom. He has to know since there was no shouting, and no one had gone back to camp yet, that his ploy had worked.

“All the times I’ve seen you naked, I could curse the sky for it being dark this time. It’s not the same is it? Seeing you in the bath through the water, soft…” his voice trails off. “I hope soon, I’ll have a chance with at least some candles, or firelight, if not under the sun itself,” he kisses Geralt’s cheek. “I can’t see as well as you, is there a grassy area we could sit on?”

“Yes,” Geralt forces out, his throat tight. He doesn’t want to _sit_ or talk. “Here,” he guides Dandelion over and holds his hands until he’s sitting.

“That’s cold,” the bard mumbles.

“What did you expect?” Geralt asks in confusion, then realizes Dandelion has not let go, and is tugging on him. He chooses to kneel, rather than plant his bare ass onto damp grass. Perhaps it would have been smarter to fix his pants first, but Dandelion had still been touching him. They hadn’t fallen that low as to hinder his ability to walk, anyway. “What’re you doing?”

“Getting these out of the way, I can’t put them back on how they are, there’s semen all over them,” he mutters. “I’ll rinse them first.”

“Then you’ll have to wear wet trousers,” Geralt points out.

“I will, but I have other plans before I put them back on.”

“And if something chooses to bite your bare ass?”

“As long as you’re that something, I really won’t mind,” Dandelion flutters his eyelashes. He moves into Geralt’s space and straddles his lap, kissing him again, and Geralt feels all the air leave his lungs he wants more so badly. “I am going to find a way to wear you out,” Dandelion promises. “And I’m going to enjoy every minute of it. How many times can you go, do you know?”

“No,” Geralt mumbles, wondering if that is something he should know.

“We’ll find out,” Dandelion grins, kissing him. When he presses them together in another passionate kiss, he pulls away with a sigh. “I’ll have to rinse my shirt, too, won’t I?”

“One of us came all over it,” Geralt admits.

“Can you tell?”

“No, we’re all over each other, I could sort it out if I wanted to, but I don’t.”

“That’s fair enough,” Dandelion says thoughtfully. “You’re right wonderful, you know. The things you can do, finding those apples, finding running water…” he smiles again when his suspicions are confirmed. Geralt likes the kind words. He likes being told those things, and it affects him on a baser level, too. “Oh, come now, lie back, let me enjoy you.”

Geralt feels his heart beat irregularly, missing a beat every time Dandelion says something kind to him. It’s never done this before. He has to dislodge the bard from his lap to get his legs out from under his body so he can lie down.

“Your clothes are so dark, I feel like I can almost see you against them,” Dandelion teases. “I wish there was a brighter moon tonight, I love the way you look in moonlight. How your skin fairly glows, even your hair seems to take the light into itself…” he covers Geralt’s body with his own moving their hips together and creating just enough friction that he feels Geralt’s breathing shift again. It feels good. “Let me go rinse these,” he indicates his trousers. “I’ll be back, don’t you dare progress along with out me,” he kisses Geralt’s forehead and abruptly pulls away.

It takes everything Geralt has not to whimper when the bard’s body leaves his. He hadn’t been ready. He sits up to watch, half afraid the bard has no intention of returning to him. It’s too hard to believe Dandelion would want him again. True to his word, Dandelion quickly immerses his clothes in the water, yanks them back out with a curse and makes his way back to the witcher hurriedly.

“Fuck that is cold, that is going to be horrible later. I hope you enjoy the use of my cock and balls tonight, because once I put those pants back on they’re going to shrink so far up my stomach we’ll never see them again.”

Geralt snorts but finds himself being pushed back to the ground and his shirt being pushed back up high on his chest. The bard plays him just as skillfully as he plays his lute. His back arches slightly and he finds one hand digging into the grass just to have something to hold onto. He hardly notices that Dandelion’s hands are slightly chilled from the stream. He can’t notice much of anything other than the tongue that slides over him and he moans so quietly Dandelion isn’t sure he heard it.

As he takes the witcher into his mouth, he listens as carefully as he can, and is satisfied to hear another soft moan pull itself from Geralt’s throat. He hadn’t been so sure it wasn’t wind in the trees it was so quiet, but it’s definitely Geralt. Surprised that when the witcher tangles a hand in his hair, he doesn’t try to take control of the pace or movement, he just holds on. Dandelion wouldn’t have minded either way, but if asked would say he much prefers being able to set his own pace and take his time. He likes being able to lean on Geralt’s thighs, keeping them open and feeling them tremble under him as he licks and sucks.

Geralt twitches when the bard pulls his trousers down more, allowing him to move his legs easier. He lets his legs fall more open, wishing he could wrap them around the bard and hold him closer. “Dandelion,” he gasps, back arching as he tries to give his lover fair warning. The bard takes him deeper and he feels a tendril of embarrassment curl through him when he whimpers with need. He tenses lightly, expecting to get caught. There’s no one there, and when Dandelion runs a hand up his leg, his back arches and he’s fairly sure he sees stars.

“Every part of you is as wonderful as I’ve been hoping,” Dandelion assures him, running his tongue over his lower lip in a way that makes Geralt’s hips buck involuntarily. “When you tensed, did I hurt you?” he asks, wiping at his chin.

“No,” Geralt promises.

“Well?”

The witcher sighs. “I half expected I’d gotten so loud I’d bring one of my tutors down on us,” he puts a hand over his eyes so he won’t have to see Dandelion’s reaction.

“You? Loud?” Dandelion asks incredulously. “You barely made a sound above a whisper,” he walks his fingers from Geralt’s navel to the hollow of his throat. “Although now I feel like you’ve thrown down a gauntlet.”

“Hmm?”

“How to get the famed White Wolf to howl…?” He gives Geralt a lascivious grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the weird delay. I kind of wasn't sure I liked this idea, or wanted to go with it.   
> And then, I think it was on this fic I mentioned a sick family member... they died. So I just didn't feel like dealing with the angst. Or the other theme of this chapter. 
> 
> Instead I worked on some fluff and domestic family nonsense for the longfic, and once my beta looks it over, it'll get posted. So if you've seen that one, the update is coming. Then the rest of the like, next 150 pages are already written so it's just a matter of getting them edited and posting them. 
> 
> Also... I kind of debated ending it here? But I felt bad about leaving Eskel alone and not resolving the emotional nonsense. So, last chapter should go up this week, barring any more tragedies.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y'all literally owe a huge thanks to Ruusverd because I ended up finding what I need to finish this thanks to several of their comments. Thanks. The talks about how Geralt sees intimacy, the failings Dandelion has, Geralt's emotional intelligence, etc. So thank you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I let it end where I felt it should. I have a bad habit of trying to write too much. Unbeta'd.

**Part 5**

Geralt shudders lightly when the bard strokes him again. The sticky mix of saliva and seed makes the bard’s fingertips lightly catch on his skin. He can’t believe Dandelion is making him hard again, and he has no idea what else they could possibly do without repeating anything. He’s so sensitive it almost hurts. They must both look a fright, covered in each other’s mess. Some part of him has craved this for so long he can’t blame the bard for trying to get in as much as possible as quickly as possible. Especially since he isn’t sure he wants to pursue this. He just isn’t sure he has the faith that he can keep the bard interested enough to keep him in his bed.

“I want you,” Dandelion tells him, kissing Geralt gently.

“I’m right here,” he says stupidly.

“Yes, I know, I would like to have you inside me, if you’re willing.”

“Oh,” he chokes for a second. “Yes,” he manages to get out, his throat squeezing with want. “We haven’t any oil,” he knows oil is necessary for this kind of thing even if he hasn’t done it. He’s not stupid.

“Spit will work, and so will this,” he tells Geralt, running his thumb over the head of Geralt’s cock. Geralt’s hips jerk involuntarily. “But if you’d rather not, I won’t blame you,” he says. “I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to,” he adds quietly. He means it.

“If you’re sure,” Geralt tells him in a low voice, fairly sure he would do anything the bard asked him to do, right now. If this really can be an isolated moment, then he would do whatever Dandelion wanted and think nothing of it later. Other than as a fond memory and something to touch himself to later when he felt lonely.

“Very sure, I’ve made do with less and it was a mistake.” The bard settles gingerly in his lap, kissing him all over his neck and face, pressing hands under his shirt against his skin and making Geralt feel extraordinary. He half wonders how Geralt has anything left to give, but he can’t complain about witcher stamina at a time like this. They shift and rearrange themselves until they’re both comfortable, and Dandelion takes Geralt’s hand and teaches him what to do.

Geralt groans low and soft in his throat when the bard eases down onto him all the way, and he freezes in paranoia again.

“It’s alright, no one to hear us,” Dandelion reminds him gently. “It’s just us, love, it’s just us.” He doesn’t move to do anything other than kiss Geralt reassuringly. “No one has any right to complain who you bed anymore, anyway, other than the person being bedded, and you.” He runs his fingers through Geralt’s hair, soothing and reassuring him until Geralt feels ready to keep going. “You’re so wonderful,” he whispers, and smiles when Geralt’s hips twitch. Praise is clearly a solid motivator for the other man. And it’s so easy to give it to him.

Geralt mostly sits back and allows Dandelion to do the bulk of the work, closing his eyes at times, absolutely overcome by the bard’s kind words. When he feels slightly less overwhelmed by it all, he leans back in and wraps his fingers around the bard’s cock, grinning when Dandelion gasps.

“Oh, yes, please do,” Dandelion encourages him. “Just go easy,” he asks.

“Was I too rough before?” Geralt can barely talk, it’s so hard to break that conditioning of decades of silence.

“No, no, not at all, I just don’t want this to be over too soon,” Dandelion tells him between breaths. “Do you want me to slow down, or speed up?” he asks, just in case Geralt has had enough.

“This is perfect,” Geralt admits, his voice barely above a whisper. He lets his free hand grip Dandelion’s hip and luxuriates in the motion over his body. Clearly this feels just as good to the other man as it does to him, if the soft moans and whimpers are any indication, and when Dandelion lets his head drop back baring his throat Geralt can’t resist kissing and nuzzling the soft flesh.

“Geralt,” Dandelion whispers, and his hands shift to grip the witcher’s shoulders. It takes Geralt a second to understand, but when Dandelion says his name again, he catches on. He lets his hand still, not wanting to help bring the bard over the edge because if he’s being honest, he isn’t ready for it to stop either.

“I want to come with you,” Geralt tells him quietly, almost ashamed. “I want us…together.”

“I can try,” Dandelion bites his lip. “Are you close?”

“I think so,” the witcher says raggedly.

“I will hold on as long as I can,” he promises, kissing Geralt hard for a few seconds. He shifts his position slightly so that it won’t be quite as pleasurable for him but should give Geralt a little more time to catch up.

“Almost,” Geralt tells him a few minutes later, panting lightly. Dandelion shifts again and can’t help but bite back a whine when Geralt works out how to push into him as he moves. It had taken him long enough to figure out he could participate properly. Not that it really mattered, it felt good to them both either way.

He presses his lips to Geralt’s as he climaxes, trying to muffle his soft cries and needy sounds. His fingertips dig into Geralt’s well-muscled shoulders and he’s gratified to feel the witcher crest with him.

They both sit there for a few minutes together, panting as Geralt slowly shrinks out of him. Dandelion gently strokes Geralt’s back, feeling the shivers that run through his lover’s body. He says nothing he wants to say, knowing it would put pressure on the other man. There’s no reason for that. This was good, and if nothing else they’ll always have this. To say it was wonderful and he can’t wait for more would be unfair. To tell Geralt how much he loves him, is also unfair. To thank him would be even stranger. For once, the bard stays quiet, listening to his own heartbeat thunder in his chest until it slows.

“Even with bathing, there’s no hiding this, is there?” Dandelion finally asks once his heartbeat is back to normal.

Geralt snorts, “No. Even if he didn’t smell it on me, he’d smell it on you. My scent is inside you now, for a while at least.”

“I suppose it is,” Dandelion agrees blandly. “Should I be sorry?”

“No.”

“Are we going to have to clean up in the ice-cold stream?”

“I think so,” Geralt tells him, not looking forward to it any more than he is. “I think I can get our saddle bags without waking Eskel. Provided he went to sleep.” The scent will still linger in the air, there’s nothing he can do about that other than hope by morning it dissipates.

“I’ll try and get myself mopped up some so there’s less time out here in the cold,” Dandelion tells him, for all he isn’t sure he’d brave the cold water in the night without the witcher’s eyes to help him. It might not be safe and if he slipped and fell or something stupid, he could get badly hurt and drown before Geralt got back. Perhaps he’ll just get his clothes wiped down as best he can manage.

Geralt does his best to move silently as he’d been trained. It doesn’t matter when he finds Eskel still awake. He winces as the other man wrinkles his nose. “Could you hear us?”

“No,” Eskel looks at him, and doesn’t say much of anything. He can see Geralt is waiting for him to do something and it would hurt his friend if he did. “When you don’t reek of… sleep next to me. Unless you decided early what to do about the bard.”

“I haven’t.”

“Then sleep next to me. You’ll be freezing anyway and I’ve already got the bedroll warm. If nothing else you found out what you were missing. Was I right or wrong? Being pretty like that giving him an excuse to be a terrible lay and make others do all the work?”

“Wrong,” Geralt says tightly, knowing there won’t be much hiding it. He can see Eskel evaluating his clothing in the firelight and he has seen it, too. He’s soaked in his and Dandelion’s seed.

“That’s good. If you decide you don’t want him as more, at least you got it out of your system.” He makes a slight face. “Or at least I hope you did.” 

Geralt hitches a shoulder in a shrug. He isn’t sure yet what the verdict is on that front, but things could be worse. “I don’t know if I should thank you or hit you,” Geralt tells him.

“Decide later.”

“I will.” He grabs up what he needs and walks back to the bard, glad to find him unharmed. They work together with quite a lot of cursing to get the worst of the mess out of their clothes and off their skin without having to get too cold or too wet. The stream only goes to Geralt’s knees, so it’s not deep but it is miserable. He’d brought soap, in hopes of lessening some of the smell of what they did, and he uses his shirt as a washcloth.

“Are you still alright?” Dandelion asks him, teeth chattering.

“Yes.”

“No regrets?”

“None,” Geralt tells him, surprised it’s true. For now at least.

“I know it changes nothing and I respect that, but I’m glad we’ll always have had that. Regardless. I hope it isn’t too forward to tell you that, I’d feel awful. I really… I really do not want you to feel any kind of pressure on my account, and I’m sorry if I caused any.”

Geralt shakes his head a bit. It could be like what he’d done with plenty of others at Kaer Morhen. Only all he’d ever done or had done was a far cry from what he and the bard had done. A few quiet hand jobs here and there were nothing like the amount of sex he’d had with Dandelion. But that hadn’t damaged any of his friendships with the other witchers and there’s no reason for this to, either. Other than perhaps the fact he wants to do it again some time.

By the time they’re both mostly clean, dried, and changed, Dandelion is almost warm again. Geralt isn’t, his slow heartbeat making it hard to maintain body heat when he’s chilled. They’ve rung their clothes out as best they can and make their way back to the campfire in companionable silence.

Dandelion knows better than to take offense when Geralt slips into Eskel’s bedroll. He could see that in their absence Eskel had moved things around so Geralt didn’t have much choice. In fact, he’s come to learn he’s glad Geralt has someone right now he can retreat to. Someone to help him process and feel safe. He’s unsurprised to see Eskel lift an arm as Geralt settles in, pulling the other man against his chest. They curl up together, and there’s a softness to it that melts the bard’s heart. Two deeply scarred men, both physical and emotional, curling into each other for comfort in spite of it all.

It’s nothing short of beautiful.

Eskel wakes first, having had plenty of time to nap and meditate while he was waiting on his travelling companions. He’s far more rested than either Geralt or Dandelion. He chooses not to get up, not wanting to disturb his friend. It won’t be long before Geralt wakes up anyway, they’re conditioned to rise with the sun most of the time. Especially out in the open with no way to block it out.

Geralt shifts a bit, opening his eyes slowly and noting he feels comfortable and disinclined to move. He curls in closer to Eskel, barely aware of where he is or what’s really going on.

“White Wolf is just so inaccurate,” Eskel grins, whispering. “It really should be White Puppy, or perhaps Kitten,” he teases, holding up a lock of Geralt’s hair against the light.

It occurs to Geralt they are not in their bed in Kaer Morhen, and they are both adults now and he needs to get out of the bedroll. They need to wash their spare clothes, as well. And he needs to bring the horses back to the stream in case they need water, stoke up the fire again, and figure out some kind of breakfast. He groans and pushes his face back into Eskel’s chest.

His friend tolerates the additional time wasted in a good-natured fashion before eventually poking and prodding at him until he decides it’s too uncomfortable to remain too close. By the time he’s made this decision and moved he might as well get up. Dandelion doesn’t sleep too much later, considering all the noise around the little camp rouses him. He automatically gets up to start helping, taking the horses back to the stream, but he chooses a spot a bit away from where he and Geralt had spent most of their night. He hopes it’s upwind, he’s trying, at the very least, to save Geralt from a little extra embarrassment.

By the time the witchers join him, they’re both stripping down and soaking their clothes in the water. Eskel’s spare change of clothing was already filthy and he didn’t have any spares to leave by the small campfire like Dandelion and Geralt had. The bard stares a bit, Eskel is just as badly scarred as Geralt and he’s never seen two people look so badly banged up. He’s also oddly surprised at how uninhibited they are about being nude.

“Like what you see?” Eskel asks when he catches Dandelion staring.

“It’s not that!” He protests indignantly, tugging his own clothes off to rinse. “I’ve just never seen two people with so many scars. I didn’t mean to stare. It’s just, I know the story behind most of Geralt’s, but I don’t know anything about yours. And I realize it’s none of my business and I’ll just stay behind this nice big rock in the middle and not bother either one of you.”

Geralt huffs in exasperation while Eskel starts laughing. The darker witcher doubles over, unable to stop after a while, gripping Geralt’s shoulder to keep himself from falling over. Geralt has no idea what’s so funny about any of it, but he grins hesitantly in response to the other witcher’s mirth. Dandelion stares with his jaw slack and looks at Geralt.

“You’re allowed to laugh!?” He asks incredulously. Not that he hasn’t heard Geralt laugh before, but not with the same careless abandon Eskel is.

“I am, I do,” Geralt tells him, brows furrowing.

“Not that chuckle you do, or that silent little laugh, but like, Melitele’s tits, is he alright? Eskel, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Eskel wheezes for a few more seconds and wipes at his eyes. “Can you imagine, I’ve never seen someone have an entire conversation with themselves like that,” he grins. “You went through several assumptions all on your own, kept talking without letting anyone stop you, and then came to the wrong conclusion. Well, also technically the right one, but I don’t mind. Lambert would chuck you down the stream like a skipping stone, but I don’t care. One of these is from a succubus, another is from a pack of drowners. Over here is a harpy, and then there’s some wyvern marks here, and a cockatrice, then a pure basilisk…” he notes them all out individually. “I sincerely hope you don’t always do that to Geralt, though, where you assume everything he’d say.”

“Well, in my defense, as pitiful as it’s going to be, he would have said ‘fuck off bard’ in your place.” Dandelion does a passable imitation of Geralt’s gravelly tones.

Eskel looks over at Geralt who gives him a vaguely embarrassed shrug. It’s true. When he starts howling with laughter again Geralt knocks him over in the stream, utterly unrepentant. The cold water provides enough of a shock to stop Eskel from laughing, but it doesn’t stop him from being amused. Especially not when he’s able to knock Geralt over, too.

Dandelion chooses to work on getting his clothes clean so he can go back to their fire and put on his hopefully dry clothes from the night before. Otherwise he’s going to embarrass himself in front of both witchers because watching them do anything naked just isn’t fair. All that muscle and casual strength, and no hint of discomfort with it, either.

They don’t do much of anything once they’re both soaked, the cold stream making them far too miserable for any kind of play to keep happening. They quickly scrub their clothes and head back to the fire. Geralt’s glad that his clothes from the night before are only slightly damp and that the sun is warm. He won’t be uncomfortable for long. Eskel lays out his clothes near the fire and crawls back into his bedroll to wait until his things are dry as Geralt and Dandelion work on setting out food and packing up what’s unnecessary for the day. They intend to travel a bit rather than lose too much time. At least they’ll all smell better by the time they get to their destination. Which will make it easier to find a room at an inn and be taken seriously as something other than vagabonds.

Dandelion plays the lute for them while they wait, and they pass most of the morning in companionable silence. Bellies full, and clothes mostly dry, they pack up the camp completely and head out. The further on the road they get, the more Geralt drags. Finally, Eskel knows there’s no getting around dealing with it. The bard has noticed but is hesitant to do or say anything in case it makes things worse. He’s suspected the cause as well as the dark-haired witcher but knows it’s not his place to get into it.

“Dandelion, will you take the horses ahead a bit, we’ll catch up shortly.”

“I’ll see if there’s a spot to let them have more water and graze a bit, Roach is looking a little thin,” he says, even though it’s patently untrue. Geralt doesn’t even bristle like he might have, too miserable to consider himself insulted.

When the bard is far enough ahead that Eskel knows he won’t be able to hear them, he looks at Geralt. “We had to part ways again, and we won’t reach the town today, either. We have another day or so together.”

“I know,” Geralt huffs, misery stamped across his features in spite of his attempt to hide it.

“Then what?”

“And if our paths never cross again?”

“Geralt, you’re the only one stopping yourself from coming to the keep to winter. I’ve gone back a few times, Lambert usually overwinters. Vesemir lives there, as you know. Bring the bard. Come stay with us. I’ll head back there this winter. Sometimes I stay in the southern countries, sometimes I don’t.” Eskel watches Geralt for his reaction and steps in to hug him tightly. “This won’t be a goodbye.”

“I’m sorry,” Geralt tells Eskel, unsure what’s wrong with him. He’s not prone to emotional displays. It had been such a change having Eskel around, someone he could just be himself with. He was too afraid to drop his guard with Dandelion entirely. He hadn’t wanted the bard to know he was in love with him. With Eskel, there’s no danger of that on either sides and it was safe to want comfort and shelter, and affection. It wouldn’t turn into anything more complicated.

“I’m glad our paths crossed,” Eskel tells him. He’s a bit overwhelmed by Geralt’s display, and is fairly sure his friend is crying again. “How long have you been stuffing all your feelings down?” he asks suddenly. It had been odd at first, for him. When he’d realized the elixirs and potions hadn’t worked and none of it was like that. He had gotten utterly shitfaced with a few other equally morose people and when one had started lamenting and crying they had all joined in. It wasn’t an experience he cared to repeat, but it had done him some good. He rarely had reason to cry, but he laughed when he wanted to laugh, got angry as he pleased, and let himself hurt when he needed to. Even if he didn’t display it like an average person would.

“When was the last time you saw me upset?”

“The forest the night before?” He knows what Geralt is asking. “When our friend Kelar died from the Changes. We were up all night. Do you remember, we all went into Erskin’s room, all of us. They didn’t even bother to punish us for it when they found us all in there.” That death had been the first of many, and the boys had reacted less strongly each time, but the dread they’d all felt when each one was taken through the process had increased until finally most of them were sick constantly with stress and fear. “So you’ve been packing down all of your feelings for almost six decades?” Eskel asks him incredulously.

“I was trying not to have them,” Geralt says thickly.

“And then you met someone who has given you quite a few, well, two someone’s from what I can tell.”

“I feel like I’ve been poisoned and fed saltpeter,” he mutters.

“The bard is making you more verbose and descriptive,” Eskel teases gently. He stays with his arms around his friend for a while, letting Geralt center himself. Looping an arm over his shoulders after, he walks with him as they slowly catch up to Dandelion. “I love you, Geralt, you’re one of my truest friends,” he says before they’re in earshot of the bard. “Come to Kaer Morhen this winter. Bring the bard, please. I pledge to keep him from harm, if that’s what worries you. Vesemir cannot fight us both. Not anymore. And he wouldn’t, anyway.”

“You truly think he’d tolerate the poet?”

“I think he’s bored, miserable, and alone, and someone was bright and cheerful as your friend will make us all pass the winter easier.” He ruffles Geralt’s hair and ignores the displeased sound he gets as a reward. “Or, if you chose to go it alone, then come alone. Or if you go back to the sorceress and she’ll agree to it, bring her. Just come back for a bit, alright?”

“Alright,” Geralt agrees, less devastated at the parting than he had been earlier. It had felt stupid. Then he blinks a bit and looks at Eskel. “I love you, too,” he feels almost stupid saying it. He grunts when Eskel elbows him lightly in the ribs. It had been right to say, he knows, he had needed to. Peace settles over him like a blanket and they alert the bard they’ve caught up.

The rest of the day is passed in relative calm, and when they camp for the night Geralt chooses to again share Eskel’s bedroll. They’ll reach their destination the next day, and it’s their last night together for months. “You’re lucky he’s not the truly jealous type,” Eskel smiles at Geralt before they fall asleep.

“Hmm?”

“If he was as jealous as he was earlier, for just a little bit, he’d never be able to stand this. He’s not all bad, your bard.”

“He’s not mine.”

“I don’t know about that, Geralt. You don’t have to choose him or change anything. But I don’t know that. Go to sleep.” He grunts softly when Geralt shifts into him on purpose.

**

The camp packed up, the town within sight, Dandelion had suggested perhaps he and Geralt should head closer to Redania, and Eskel was thinking of heading further south again. Perhaps down past Cintra for a bit. There was more civil unrest, which meant more monsters feasting on corpses that needed killing. Personally, Geralt was hoping to stop in Ellander for a short bit, and they were already in Temeria. Perhaps he could convince Dandelion to go with him and then they could follow the river to Oxenfurt. Although he’d prefer to go overland where possible. Unless there was a contract to be stuck on a barge for a while.

It occurs to him as they travel that he’s decided he wants the bard to stay with him, but he hasn’t managed to figure out in what capacity yet. That doesn’t seem fair, but perhaps if the bard will be patient, he can work through it with his help. Decide what he truly wants. And what the bard is willing to offer in face of what the witcher needs.

Eskel finds a contract in town, and as promised Geralt leaves it to him. They’ll stay for a day or so while he wraps it up, and then hit the road again. Just in case he finds himself in need of help. The town isn’t overly hostile, but it’s better to know you have someone around whose got your back.

Dandelion finishes setting up the room in the inn they’d found, glad to have a way to get his clothes properly laundered and access to a hot bath. He doesn’t push Geralt to talk, doesn’t even try to engage him overmuch beyond making sure that the room will suit them both adequately.

Clean, fed, and comfortable, Geralt eases himself onto the bed next to the bard pulling the other man against his chest. He’s surprised Dandelion hadn’t been pushing him for answers the entire time. Apparently the bard did know how to be patient and show some restraint. “I want you to stay with me,” Geralt admits in a hoarse voice. “I don’t know if I want to behave like we did in the woods,” with absolute wanton abandon, “But I want to be with you. I want…but I don’t…”

“There’s conditions?” the bard asks gently, curling against the witcher. “Let’s hear them.”

“Are you mad?”

“Not yet, but if your condition is I stop singing songs, or something along those lines, I don’t know that we can work.”

“No!” Geralt winces. “I…If you’re sharing my bed I don’t want you to share another’s.”

“Agreed. Easily, but with a follow up question. If we’ve separated, even temporarily? Like we sometimes do in the winter?” He isn’t sure how Geralt would consider that. So he wants to know.

“So eager to make sure you can escape to someone else’s bed?” Geralt rasps.

“No, I just want to know if you intend to be sleeping with others and so I should know what to expect. I can be true to you, whether you’re in the same town or not, that’s easily done. I want to, if that’s what you want.”

“Come with me, to Kaer Morhen this winter,” Geralt pleads suddenly.

“I can do that,” he agrees easily. “Perhaps not every year? We could trade off, this winter at the keep, next winter at Oxenfurt.”

“Yes,” Geralt agrees.

“What else? What other conditions?”

“None, I think,” Geralt tells him.

“Well I have some for you, then.”

Geralt raises his eyebrows and feels a moment of alarm.

“Tell me when I’ve done something that hurts your feelings. Don’t wait five more months for us to head up north to Kaedwen and the keep so someone else can do it for you. And while I know you’re experienced in bed, if you don’t like something, you must let me know. I’ll adjust to your silence, and quiet breathing, but I have to trust that it doesn’t mean you’re bored, or unhappy. I don’t want you feeling uncomfortable.”

“I don’t want to howl in bed,” Geralt tells him quietly after a moment. He wouldn’t mind feeling freer or safer, but he doesn’t want things to be loud.

“I won’t make you, or try. I was mostly teasing before. And my cock got away with me a bit. I’m sorry if that made you uncomfortable.” He sits up to watch Geralt’s face. “I want us to be a pair, if that’s what you want. And you will have to learn to communicate some with me. I’m not asking you to share more of your past, or things you can’t bear to speak about.”

Geralt hesitates, feeling ridiculous. “I’m not stupid,” he finally says, unable to tell Dandelion to stop telling him he is.

“I know. I’m sorry for all the times I’ve said it and hurt you. I’m sorry for all the other ways I’ve misunderstood you or miscommunicated with you that’s hurt you. And I will try and listen better,” he says in a chagrined tone. “I’ve caused more harm than I meant to. To the person I’d like to harm the least. I am truly sorry.”

“It’s forgiven,” Geralt manages. His throat is oddly tight and if he could blush he’d be red. He hadn’t expected that. The bard had met his eyes the entire time, not a single word of it was a lie. “I will try and inform you of what is agitating me before I take it out on you.”

“You’ve been doing much better since Caingorn anyway, but I appreciate you’ll keep trying. And perhaps I’ll learn to stop being some of the cause of that agitation.”

Geralt snorts as if he to say he can’t imagine the bard not being part of the mess. His own feelings are always stirred up around the other man and it makes it harder. Then, one last thought hits him. “I don’t want to just have sex with you,” he says, not sure what he means. It’s not that he didn’t want to experience some of what they did again, it’s just he wants it to be different, he wants it to mean something different.

“I will make love to you as many times as you ask, in as many ways as suit us both, Geralt. What we did was fun, I enjoyed it. But it was meant to be a one time event. The next time we are intimate, it will be different. Do you regret it?” he asks fidgeting with his hands.

“No,” Geralt catches his hands and squeezes them tightly. “No. It was good. I just…I need… more,” he finishes lamely.

“And you will have it,” the bard promises. He smiles when Geralt leans in to kiss him, passionate but gentle and sweet. It isn’t the kind of kiss meant to lead to anything other than what it was. Dandelion took it for what it was, and kissed back, he loved the witcher. He would kiss Geralt like this as often as he wanted, until the end of his days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're wondering, yes, Eskel is fine. They hung around a bit together after, and split ways. I had initially kind of thought I would be telling Eskel & Geralt's story, but I don't know if I really did. I think it was still more Dandelion/Geralt. I'm okay with it. But that's why I chose to end it where I did. For them, this chapter in their story is over. Hope you liked it. 
> 
> (anyone waiting on the longfic to get updated, I s2g it's written and just needs some editing and beta'ing and it's there. So don't be discouraged. But If I'm gonng write 200 pages and do research and what have you, I am gonna make sure that shit gets edited before I unleash it into the world.)

**Author's Note:**

> If I missed a tag, let me know.


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